


sugar laced

by whore



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cheating, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, SebaCiel - Freeform, Shotacon, Slice of Life, Teacher x Student, darkfic in disguise, jailbait!ciel, nymphet!ciel, vexing-young-master
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whore/pseuds/whore
Summary: a student; spoiled, cocky, a little too pretty.a teacher; humble, deprived, a little too tempted.what couldpossiblygo wrong?





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: this is 100% fucked. no 9th grader should be having sexual relations with their teachers. i know that well. however, this is fiction and no minors were harmed in the creation of this. consider the warnings, and read at your own risk.

Sebastian Michaelis sits at his desk. It's a long, dark mahogany piece, topped with piles upon piles of paperwork.

He rifles through them. Sighs discontentedly.

If there's one thing Sebastian hates about his job, it's the amount of papers he has to grade. Some of his students don't even bother. Scratch barely-readable writing into their papers and etching, ripping through and using stupidly inky pens that bleed into the back.

Honestly, it's a wonder why he still works as a high-school teacher.

He's a humble man. Deserves better than he recieves. A little missus across his classroom says in hushed whispers  _why, he would make a lovely actor! look at those cheekbones, his silky black hair, his beautiful eyes, his lips, his angular nose — it's a shame he teaches — really, really!_

_— or perhaps a fashion model! mister michaelis is built wonderfully, too! he is packing not a bit flab and he is incredibly strong! did you see him help me yesterday, how he lifted those desks with ease!? oh, how dreamy!_

Sebastian tries to let the rest of the classroom drown out the blabber of two certain girls. Staring directly at him and murmuring obvious.

_mm, it really is a shame. i wish he wasn't our teacher, you know. he's also such a good person._

_helps old ladies cross the streets,_

_goes to church on sundays,_

_prays for everybody,_

Sebastian Michaelis flushes and holds his head in his hands. Patiently awaits the bell.

* * *

_Everything is boring,_ Sebastian thinks, pen in hand as he taps it against the surface of hardwood. Squints his eyes at incomprehensible chicken scratch and really,  _truly_ tries to decipher it. Could've sworn Finny was a bright boy.

His classroom's dark, dimmed the way he likes it. No students filling up the shabby plastic chairs. It's all quiet.

Silent. Just the way he likes it — just him and his work.

He squints a little harder. Cocks his head and zones out a bit. Snaps back into it.

_Did this dimwit even try?_

Sebastian keeps working, though. Tries to keep his eyes open and gives one last I-just-want-to-go-home-effort of a read and decides to call it a zero. Bolts up from his chair and scurries out his classroom  _— god,_ he hates that place. Always needlessly noisy, chalk full of annoying, hormonal teenagers.

It reminds him of headaches and ignorance. Sebastian doesn't like either.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, scratches his neck. Clenches his suitcase and gives one last look at the calm-but-not-for-long room before taking his leave.

* * *

Sebastian doesn't have much to look forward to when he gets home.

His cute little wife, dressed in lace, he hopes sheepishly. Maybe a plate full of double-chocolate-chip cookies. Or a sweet, homemade shortcake. She used to love making those. Wonder what happened.

He comes home to sugar-coated ear-to-ear grins and warming hugs. Just the same as yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.

Sebastian's a good man, though. Humble. Takes what he can get. Deserves more than he receives. He takes her hugs and kisses her forehead like a good husband should do. Threads his fingers through her hair and asks her about her day. Lets her ramble on and on about whatever she pleases.

Like a good husband should do.

 _I've had a long day, honey_ , he murmurs sweet and low into her ear. Trails his hand down the arch of her back. Twiddles his fingers suggestive.

The missus only shakes her head, raises a brow and laughs outright. Says something about  _mm, not today, i'm afraid._

Sebastian tries not to let his face drop.

Offers a wide, loving smile. Says  _it's okay_  and carries on, fist clenched behind his back.

He wonders what he's doing wrong as he eats the chicken breast and greens she's prepared for the fifth night in a row.

She's been like this for weeks, and Sebastian is a needy man. Hasn't had a decent fuck in a month and his hand isn't gonna cut it tonight, he thinks.

He misses her, if anything. Misses back when they were younger, maybe, when she was carefree and ruthless. Didn't let anybody say shit to her and took what she wanted. Was a determined, utterly  _sexy_ thing, standing little at 5'3, 120 pounds.

The chicken is blander than usual.

Sebastian especially misses the way she'd wrap her legs around his waist in their fits of passion. The way she drove herself into him. Bow-hips bucking back and wrapping him up all slick and sweet. Plush breasts fit perfectly in his hand. His mouth.

The greens are mushier than he remembers. 

Sebastian sighs for the fifth time that night and and stands up.

Cleans after himself and washes the dishes. He hates putting any extra work on his darling dear — just wants to make things easier for her, maybe  _woo_ her a little. He's starved. Getting a bit more desperate than he'd like to admit.

His hand starts looking better and better as the night progresses, back turned to his wife and head nestled in a fat pillow.

Sebastian's a good man, though. Wouldn't jerk off with his lover mere inches away. He gently rises from their king-sized bed and murmurs a soft  _just going to the bathroom, honey_  when she looks at him with a brow cocked and lips pursed.

He locks the door and turns on the light.

Gulps when he tugs his trousers and undergarments down. Licks at his palm. Feels a gust of relief at his dick taking a breath of fresh air.

Sebastian wraps a spit-slicked hand around his girth and strokes, muffling any noise he makes with a towel to his mouth.

He bites down. Moves his fist faster and pauses to thumb the head slow and pressure-heavy.

He whines into the towel. Picks up a slow, tight-gripped rhythm.

Sebastian flushes at how much precum gushes from his slit. 

Slows his fist.

Picks up the pace again. Fucks into his hand quick and real sloppy. Just wants to get off and go.

He curses,

and curses,

and curses,

_Mmm..!_

Moves faster,

and faster,

and faster

and

Sebastian cums quick with a muffled groan. Hand squeezing the hell out his dick. Orgasm shuddering through him harder than he would've liked.  

 _This isn't right_ , Sebastian thinks, ashamed for having jerked off in his bathroom with the door locked and teeth biting down on a towel for the fifth time this week. It isn't normal. 

He wonders what he's doing wrong as he washes his hands and cleans up a mess of cum and sweat. Turns the lights off and closes the door behind himself. Walks back to his wife and smiles all sweet like he hadn't just whacked off in a locked bathroom like some dweeby teenager. 

The mister goes to sleep with his arms wrapped tight around a pillow and face buried sad in its fluff. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to keep this chapter short n sweet !! anyway, feedback is much appreciated!!!


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY sorry for the big ass delay !! i managed to jam this out between studying and school so it's not perfect, but i hope you all enjoy it nonetheless! 
> 
> i have most of my finals this week so the next chapter might also be a little delayed, but hopefully after that, i'll update consistently.

_BRRRRRRR_

_..._

_BRRRRRRR_

_..._

_BRRRR-_

Sebastian wakes up with a groan, sticks one hand out from his covers and searches for his phone with eyes squinty and forehead creased. 

It takes him a good 30 seconds to locate the stupid ringing device; it's annoying, loud, and blaring. Standard alarm bell.

He turns it off, sits up. Wipes his face and rubs his eyes.

_God, I really don't wanna go to work today._

His wife isn't at his side when he turns to look at her side of the bed. Pillows are ruffled and sheets are pulled back. He didn't think she had work today. 

He figures it's none of his business and leisurely marches to his bathroom.

Sebastian washes his face and shaves off whatever shadow he had going. Dabs the too-prominent rings of dark under his eyes with cold water and hopes he doesn't look as  _dead_ when he gets to work. He's been looking a little offlately, he thinks. 

Maybe chicken breast and greens isn't doing Sebastian as well as he thought it would.

He shuts off the lights and exits. Throws on something deemed  _presentable_ and  _professional;_  he doesn't care for the button-up he throws on, nor the black tie he fixes around his collar, nor the black blazer and pants he lazily slides on.

They're nothing special, really. Just a pair he'd bought back a couple years ago — they all blend into the rest of Sebastian's black, black wardrobe.

He thinks of his wife when he looks at himself in the mirror and laughs, a little bitter. Thinks about how she'd probably patronize him for wearing black-on-black for the 5th time in a row, because of course, _you always wear black on black, sebastian! you're so boorrriiinnng._

Sebastian feels a wave of disappointment when he doesn't find her anywhere downstairs. He  _supposes_ he shouldn't  _—_    she's a grown woman, can operate how she'd like. 

It's not like it's any of his business anyway, he tells himself. 

He feels a little more disheartened when he doesn't find a note anywhere. Lets a little unsatisfied smile come on his face and huffs a sigh.

Sebastian's fingers want to dial her number. Maybe ask her where she is, how he misses her already  — maybe that would get something out of her, right? He can barely remember what kind of person she is. She's gotten all wishy-washy and sickly sweet; artificial and sickening. He doesn't like to think about how she could be hiding something from him.

Surely, she  _trusts_ him enough to tell him about anything.. right?

Another huffed sigh heaves from Sebastian's lungs.

He tries to think about nothing in particular while his coffee brews.

* * *

 

Sebastian's bored when he plops down in his comfy leather desk chair; it practically swallows him with how plush and forgiving the cushioning is. 

He doesn't want to open his suitcase nor start the day. He's barely finished his coffee — wishes he could say he can't be bothered to do anything, but his bills and mortgage nag at the back of his mind. 

He questions time and time again why he didn't choose a different career path back when. 

And it's not long til students fill into his classroom, almost as tired as he is. Hoodies up, sleep deprivation prominent, mouths running with needless profanities. 

 _Teenagers_ , he thinks.

He catches some conversation — something about  _that new kid. gonna be comin' into our class today, y'hear?_

_'parrently he's real rich. his daddy's a multimillionaire ceo of somethin'. i didn' hear much._

_a ceo?! you gotta be fuckin with me, man. that's wild. so we're getting a spoiled rich kid? great._

Sebastian bites his tongue, curses softly. Of course. He feels dumb for forgetting; barely remembers the poor kid's name. Starts with a C. Something with a C. French. Not particularly common, Sebastian thinks hard with twiddling thumbs.

He scrambles for the attendance list. 

_Phantomhive, Ciel._

_Phantomhive._

He's heard that last name before. Sebastian squints his eyes and nudges at the bit of familiarity Phantomhive induces.  

_Phantomhive._

_Phantomhive_

It takes him a second.

_Funtomhive._

_..._

_Funtom._

_..._

_..._

_FUNTOM._

Sebastian doesn't let his jaw drop. He supposes it would be better to keep that to himself.

Doesn't need all the other kids running around and hollering that the new kid's dad owns probably the largest toy and candy company in England. Hell, not just England — probably the whole damn world. 

Sebastian recalls one time he was in Thailand and he saw roughly three Funtom shops located in one mall. Each were filled to the brim with either tired parents and energetic children or tired children and energetic parents.

A small bit of doubtful laughter bubbles out Sebastian's chest. 

Once most of his students have filled up the still-ugly plastic chairs, Sebastian stands up and clasps his hands. Clears his throat loud and starts speaking once he's got all his students' attention.

"So, as some of you may know—"

Two boys hobbled in hoodies perk up and listen close.

"—we have a new student joining us today,"

Sebastian already hears quiet whispers of  _ooh who do you think it'll be? boy or girl? tall or short? fat or small? cute or ugly? are they—_  

"Please do not give them a hard time. Welcome them  _nicely_ , yes?" He can already feel the headache coming on when ignorant whispers grow harsher and louder.

Sebastian figures he should leave the students be til the first bell rings. Maybe finish his lukewarm coffee. He plops back down in his seat and leans back.

And then suddenly, more abruptly than Sebastian would've liked, two knocks at the open door make the class drop dead silent. 

All focus goes to a little figure standing by the door, fist raised and eyebrow cocked questioning.

Short, gray-haired. If Sebastian squints, it's tinted blue. 

"..."

A really big, stupid smirk. Maybe cocky.

"..."

"Pardon, is this the classroom of Sir Michaelis?" 

The voice that leaves the boy is high and smooth. Matches his exterior pretty well, Sebastian thinks. 

The boy's a little... peculiar, to say the least.

Choked laughter erupts from the corner of his classroom.

_did he just say sir?_

"Ah, yes. Please, come in. Take a seat — we'll get started once the others have come," 

Choked laughter doesn't halt as the kid strides in confident and  _weird;_  a little missus in the corner thinks he stinks of money. Wrists are iced with a wallet-beating watch and bracelets.

She tries not to let her eyes bulge at how his parents would let him leave the house wearing something so  _unconventional_.

"Thank you, Sir,"

Sebastian bites his tongue.

"Just  _Mister_ will do," 

Kid takes a seat directly in front of him. It's one of the only empty desks, aside from one directly in the middle, and one in the far left corner. 

Keeps a fat, cocky grin on his pretty boy face. 

Sebastian doesn't let his eyes linger on his pale, pale shoulders.

It's only another 5 minutes that the two other missing students come in to fill in the seats. 

He tries not to let out an exasperated groan at the puny girl decked in green and black running into his classroom. Gaping her mouth at the new kid and taking her seat in the corner. Eyes all googly and bugged, lined with what Sebastian considers tar-black.

He's thankful that the short, dopey blond that follows, shoulders sagged forwards and posture slouched, doesn't make any weird remarks. His eyes do light up a little too fast, though. Whips his head towards Sebastian a little too giddy, and then at the dark-haired boy in front of him, and then back to Sebastian, and suddenly he's concerned for the new kid's safety.

He'd rather have them ignore him than stare him down like a pack of wolves would a white rabbit.

The bell rings.

Sebastian clears his throat and stands. Looks over at the kid and offers a warming  _teacher smile,_  gestures with a hand for him to get up.

Sebastian lowers his gaze upon watching him rise from his desk, smooth collarbones prominent, parts of his bony chest exposed. Narrow shoulders adorned with light, light baby-purple. 

The sleeves are too long, too big for the kid's frame. 

"Introduce yourself, say three things, yeah?"

Kid's lips are still drawn in a shit-eating grin. Sebastian can't tell if it's endearing or annoying. 

They're awfully pink and glossed. 

"Hi. My name is Ciel. I'm new. I like flowers. And I like drawing," Kid counts to three with his fingers at each thing he lists. Posture perfect, words chosen carefully. Monotone when they land.

Sebastian swallows.

He doesn't look at how Ciel's ribcage strains through his taut skin by the way his baby-purple too-small shirt with too-long sleeves expose it. He's a good man, after all. Doesn't let his eyes skim over a kid's body   — especially not a  _boy's_.

Ignorant whispers quiet down to snuffed giggles.

_h-he looks a little girly, don't you think?_

_an understatement, mate. we have a sissy boy on our hands._

_'s he even a boy?_

"I do hope you all treat Ciel with care and welcome him well—"

Sebastian keeps his face trained, keeps it straight and stone-cold. He's mastered the art of poker-facing with what lovely things he's used to hearing from his students.

"—Now go on, introduce yourselves,"

Another warm, sugarcoated  _teacher smile._

He leans down to murmur just so that the kid can hear his  _you can take a seat, now._ Pretends not to see his ears flush red and walks back to his seat.

Sebastian doesn't pay attention as his students start going row by row, saying their names and something about themselves.

It all becomes white noise after the 5th kid speaks, and Sebastian doesn't dare let his gaze linger on Ciel. His eyes betray him, though.

_hi! m' name's finny, 'nd I like flowers too!_

Ciel looks pretty bored. Rolls his perfect fingers in a rhythm atop of hardwood. Holds his face in his palm. Waits for the rest to stop talking.

_Another 5 people pass around._

His hair mops over his left eye. Even under that, Sebastian thinks he's wearing an eyepatch by the strings that come across his face and around his head.

_i'm sieglinde! i like the colour green._

Sebastian stares at how Ciel's lashes cast shadows onto his cheeks.

Sebastian stares at his plushy girl lips.

 _Now_  he swears to tear his gaze away from the kid, stands up from his desk after everyone's finished their useless introductions; a little missus in the back whines something along the lines of  _why, i didn't even go yet..!_

Sebastian slides on his spectacles, and proceeds with class. Doesn't miss the way the way Phantomhive slouches his shoulders down and lays his head in his arms.

* * *

 

Ciel's eyelids threaten to drop as the lesson drones on and on. Didn't really expect to have  _English_ first period. 

He thinks he catches a word or two of something about literary devices. Checks the time.

8:56.

1 hour and four minutes til class is over.  

He heaves a sigh. 

 It's not that Michaelis is boring. Ciel actually thinks he's rather interesting. When he speaks, there isn't a single person that isn't paying attention — everybody has this sort of respect for him. It's kind of odd, Ciel muses. Kind of fascinating, too.

Michaelis' voice is just a little too soothing. A little too easy on the ears, perhaps glides through his ears a little too fast. Sometimes, it sounds like something better than English; something a level higher, maybe.

Odd, Ciel thinks. 

Maybe everybody likes him a little too much, too. Ciel doesn't miss how the trio of skinny blondes seated beside him widen their big blue eyes at Mr. Michaelis.

He can barely remember their names, despite that they introduced themselves not 10 minutes ago.

One holds her face in the palms of her hands. The other two hastily note everything that leaves his lips. Not even looking at their papers; just at dear, dear, Mr. Michaelis.

 _My eye is bigger,_  Ciel thinks.  _And bluer._

Maybe he should be taking notes, too. Ciel supposes he could depend on his  _remarkable_ memory. If all else fails, he figures he can borrow from Heart-Eyes Girl 1, put his guilt-tripping and pretty boy face to good use. 

He checks the time again.

8:59.

He wishes the time would pass faster.

"—Ciel?"

_Shit._

His head snaps up fast. Hurts his neck a bit, but Ciel thinks he'll worry about that later.

"Pardon me, Mr. Michaelis. Could you please repeat that?"

He hates how formal he sounds when he speaks. It flows from him too naturally, like a damn robot. Barely knows what he's saying.

"Give us an example of a literary device," Michaelis' eyes stare right through him. 

They're a lot redder than they are brown. His jaw is strong. Michaelis' jet black hair frames his face really well, too.

His tone is weirdly cold — different from the gentle, gentle voice that was speaking mere minutes earlier. Ciel thinks if he could touch it, it would feel like velvet. Now it feels like hard, hard steel.

Ciel wracks his brain. Doesn't break eye contact, though, keeps his big blue eye locked on his teacher's narrow, dark ones. 

_Literary devices._

_Literary devices._

"Metaphors and, or, similies,"

He can vaguely remember things from last year. Got a 98 on the unit test. Feels a bit of pride swell in his chest when Michaelis quirks the corner of his mouth, nods his head and murmurs a quiet  _mhm, good, good._

Ciel feels a gust of relief when those eyes trail off of him. Michaelis has one hell of a glare. 

He wonders why he doesn't pick on Heart Eyes Girl 1 or 2. They seem to want his attention more than Ciel does. Eyes still widened big and lips bordering pouty.

Ciel has to bite his tongue to restrain laughter.

 _I don't have to try_ , he thinks satisfactorily.  _I'm already pretty._

Michaelis doesn't even spare a glance to his side of the class any more, like he's avoiding Ciel's line of desks all together.

He adjusts the hemline of his top. 

Ciel can't tell if it's because of the googly-eyed blondes or if it's because of himself. 

* * *

 

Ciel has a bit to look forward to once he gets home.

When he steps into the foyer, he can already smell Mother's cooking, right through the door. He recognizes the scent almost immediately; she's been preparing  _this_ for the past 5 days _._  Swears up and down she wouldn't stop making it til shes absolutely nails the recipe.

Fortunately, it actually smells  _good_ this time around. 

Ciel presses the buzzer. He tries not to cringe when  _Fur Elise_  starts ringing throughout the whole house, echoing right through the door. Father thinks it sounds sophisticated.

 Sometimes he wonders why they can't just have a  _normal_ bell.

The door instantly opens.

"Ciel! Darling boy! How was your first day?!"

His face immediately gets smothered by kisses, Mother's arms sling around his neck, and Ciel flushes a hot red.  _'m not a child,_  he wants to say.  _Get your hands off me._

He laughs uncomfortably. Gently ushers her off himself, drops his bag mumbles something along the lines of  _it was alright, mum. relax._

She isn't having it.

_Swat._

He jerks instantly. 

 "Ow!"

"Don't mumble at your Mother, boy," 

 A bit too energetic for Ciel's liking, words playful and frolicsome; he thinks his neck is branded with an imprint of her hand. 

She cracks a grin and starts walking back to where she was previously — the kitchen, probably. Mother smells like what she's cooking. Calls for Ciel excitedly,  _i think i got it right this time! come, come, eat!_

Ciel is a good boy, a good son. He doesn't ask her how she managed to fuck up chicken pot pie four times in a row. Instead, he follows her lead, lets the delicious aroma of what he's hoping isn't a fuck-up fill his nostrils, and prays it tastes as good as it smells.

"Doesn't it smell great?"

The scent gets stronger and better as he nears the pot pie; Ciel's tongue starts producing copious amounts of saliva, and maybe she actually did  _not_ completely fuck it up.

Ciel ponders how she managed to burn the outside, despite the innards being completely raw yesterday.

It looks pretty damn good, though. Promising. It's presented in a small ceramic bowl, a single serving, perfectly proportioned. The crust is a nice brown-gold, looks like it'll flake under light pressure and the steam streaming out of it hits Ciel right in the face, and suddenly he can't wait to dig in.

He scrambles for a fork and takes a seat at their long, dark dining table. Waits for Mother to place the dish down; he'd burn his fingertips trying to do that himself. She has an absurdly large heat tolerance, Ciel thinks, and he doesn't need to tarnish the smooth, smooth skin on his hands. 

He hears her chuckle quiet and stand back. Probably waiting for him to take a bite. 

He scrapes the top of the crust with the fork, gently sinking metal into surprisingly soft dough and chicken.

Nothing faulty yet. His mouth waters some more.

Ciel brings it to his lips.

"...."

"...."

"...."

"Mum, can you please stop staring at me like that?"

"Just eat it, won't you?"

"...."

"...."

"...."

_"Dish ish delishush—"_

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ciel. That's disgusting,"

He hastily swallows his food and clears his throat.

"You.. did it. It tastes great—" Ciel doesn't need to finish his sentence. Mother finishes it for him, laughing happily to naught but herself and pumping her fist, shout-whispering  _yes!! i did that!!!_

He really, truly tries not to facepalm. 

A big, stupid smile breaks out onto his face nonetheless. 

-

_RING_

_...._

_RING_

_...._

_RING_

_...._

_RING_

_...._

_"You've reached: 4-4-7-7-4-3-2-5-8-6-9-6. The person you are trying to contact, Ana Michaelis, is currently unavailable. To send a voicemail, dial—"_

Sebastian shuts off his phone and exhales, disappointed. Worried. It's 6:08pm, and he hasn't seen a trace of his wife since the morning.

_Ana, dear, where are you?_

He stares at the blank black screen. Takes a deep breath and dials her number for the 5th time. He swears this is the last time. If he doesn't see her tomorrow, in the morning, Sebastian thinks he's gonna contact the authorities. After the 24 hour mark, he can file a missing persons report.

Sebastian feels his gut wrench.

His phone rings

and rings

and rings

and

 _"You've reached: 4-4-7-7-4-3-2-5-8-6-9-6. The person you are trying to contact, Ana Michaelis, is currently unavailable. To send a voicemail, dial 1. To call back, dial_ _—"_

A loud, frustrated groan rips through Sebastian. He clenches the fragile device between his too-big fingers, and hopes he doesn't break it when he squeezes tight. Better than chucking it, Sebastian figures.

Ana has been gone since morning. She could've left at night, for all Sebastian knows. 

She doesn't leave a note,

nor a voicemail

nor does she call him. 

A good husband would call his wife, ask her how she is

And

A good wife would  _pick up_ , respond, put her husband's worries at bay.

Ana declined him. 

Ana  _declined_ him.

He finds it hard to stay calm in his stupidly constricting Corolla. 

_Deep breaths,_

_Deep breaths,_

he tells himself. Sebastian doesn't want to let his anger get the best of him, especially not while he's driving, or about to drive. He's seen one too many car wrecks, and lost one too many family members to blinded-by-fury driving.

He recalls one time he damn near crashed into traffic due to careless, uncontrolled anger. Ana's voice screaming and hands clawing at the steering wheel is what saved their asses that night.

_Tch._

Sebastian knows what's best for himself. He lowers his seat, rests his head back and gives himself a few minutes to ground his emotions and make sure his mind is straight by the time he turns the key, starts up the car. 

He stops squeezing his phone.

_What am I doing wrong?_

Sebastian tries to evaluate the situation. Doesn't really know what he's doing, but all he knows is that the anger pulsating through his veins isn't stilling.

_What am I doing wrong?_

He's done everything right. He treats Ana with care, doesn't force anything on her. Does everything a  _good husband_  should do. Does everything a  _good man_  should do, too. He goes to church on Sundays and donates to charities, even when his budget is more constricting than the stupid fucking car he's seated in. 

Sebastian Michaelis is a good man. 

Sebastian Michaelis is a good man.

Sebastian Michaelis is a good man.

_What am I doing wrong?_

A rough, loud, gravelly yell.

He's about to stomp on the gas, pull out of the parking lot too fast with his mind loaded with bad, bad decisions when his phone starts ringing.

He picks it up immediately, doesn't bother to check the caller's ID.

"Hello?" Sebastian's nearly panting when he speaks. It's almost pitiful.

"Hey, it's me. What's up with you? You've called me like 10 times within the span of 4 minutes," A little more than 5 calls, Sebastian thinks, but he puffs a breath of relief.

It's her.

_It's her._

"I'm sorry. Where were you? I haven—"

"I was just out with my friends, Sebastian. Relax. I thought I told you yesterday,"

He furrows his brows.

"Yesterday? I don't think you said shit to me, yesterday,"

Ana's breath hitches in her throat.

"Do you know how worried I got? I didn't see you next to me in the morning, I didn't get a call or a note from you, I didn't get anything,"

Sebastian can practically sense her freeze through the phone before she exhales inaudibly. Sebastian feels it right in ear, though. Can imagine her shoulders stiffening, too.

"...Don't tell me that this is because I didn't fuck you last night. I sw—"

"What? Ana, I didn't say anything about that. Can't I worry about you? Care about you, be a good fucking husband to you?"

"I—"

"Forget about it. We'll talk when I get home. I'm gonna hang up now," He doesn't bother with carrying on the conversation, ends the call and refrains from throwing his phone. Had he kept on, he knows he would've started yelling.

Sebastian doesn't like yelling.

It  _does_ feel like he's gotten a little closure, though. Like a weight's been lifted off his chest and now it feels like he's actually breathing again. Sebastian's breath is steadier now, head cleared for the most part and he  _supposes_ he can start driving; maybe reflect on the  _okay_ parts of his day, keep his mind calm.

Sebastian turns the key, starts up his car. Pulls out the parking lot and turns up the music.

* * *

 

_— And drip from leaves, then I recall;_

_The thrill of being sheltered in your arms,_

He likes Chet Baker's voice. How it flows through his radio, how perfectly piano compliments it, how perfectly trumpet compliments it. The wave of nostalgia it induces. 

_Of course I do_

_But I get along without you_

_Very well,_

Baker used to be Dad's favourite. Sebastian remembers this song like it was yesterday that Dad had it playing through the house, simply to drown out silence.  _Silence invites evil,_  he said. 

Sebastian never really understood that, if he was honest. Too much faith in Dad meant he believed it, no questions asked. 

_I've forgotten you just like I should_

_Of course, I have,_

He thinks he might understand it now. 

_Except to hear your name,_

_Or someone's laugh that is the same_

_But I've forgotten you just like I should_

Sebastian supposes he's overthinking things. Shakes his head, turns up the music.

_What a guy_

_What a fool am I_

_To think my breaking heart  
_

_Could kid the moon_

_..._

Baker's voice takes him on a ride of its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chet baker is hands down one of my all time favourite artists; rest his soul.  
> i seriously can't wait to finish with all the vague buildup and to jump into head first into intensity!! stay patient; i have a l o t planned lmao.  
> let me know what you think of this chapter!


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crush  
> /krəSH/  
> informal  
> a brief but intense infatuation for someone, especially someone unattainable or inappropriate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooO sorry for the delay on the update!! i was a little burned out from other things, but hopefully now the updates will be as consistent as can be. thank you for being patient with me!

_BANG._

_BANG._

_BANG._

Sebastian cringes when his fist lands against hardwood. He tries not  _too_  knock too hard — already feels bad for cussing at Ana over the phone earlier.

 _At least I didn't yell_ , Sebastian tells himself.

It's a second or 10 before the door finally opens.

Sebastian's relieved too easily when he finally sees  _her_. Ana looks bored, unamused; like she's opening the door to anybody else and it's not like he'd been worried sick about her. Not like she knew how stressed he was, nor how close Sebastian was to filing a fucking  _police report._

 He lets his eyes track her body down and up. The shape of her is lost in one of his t-shirts; it's more than over-sized on her, and Sebastian doesn't think she's wearing any pants. For a second, Sebastian's happy. Elated. Content. 

Then he gets angry.

Quick.

He watches as Ana's lips part to speak and cuts off the sentence before it even begins.

"Really? Are you fucking serious? I spend the whole day worrying about you, don't get a call, not a text, not a word, and I  _call_ you  _ten_ fucking times, have you decline on the  _last_ call, and then have you call me  _back_ just to say you were out with your  _friends_?"

Sebastian's voice is a low, controlled rumble, but the words that leave him scream for themselves.

Angry. Angry. Angry.

Sebastian doesn't like the way Ana's shoulders freeze up.

"You didn't even tell me anything yesterday. Nothing. I don't give a shit what you think you said. You didn't tell me anything." The words feel like needles on his tongue and they crunch like glass in his teeth and it  _hurts_ to talk to Ana like this. He hates it. Doesn't think it's right, but his mind steers his mouth faster than his heart does.

Her breath hitches in her throat —Sebastian can hear it. Maybe it's his own, but the sound of his pulse drums loud in his ears.

"Sebastian.. I'm sorry," She tries,  _really_ does. Sebastian's a calm man. Never one to lash out, talk back. He's passive and doubtful. Hasn't gotten this agitated in a while, and he  _knows_ Ana doesn't know how to deal with this situation, and it feels bad when it sinks in. Makes his chest tighten nervous.

Sebastian's mind swerves and he looks straight through Ana; continues talking in a low, low rumble.

"Do you know how worried I got? Had to keep a straight face all throughout work, too. Didn't say nothing. Didn't wanna pester you,"

Silence.

"I thought you might've gotten hurt. Or worse. Thought something bad could've happened to you,"

More silence.

It feels stupidly long; the time between him waiting for a response and how long her earthy, earthy eyes bore into him.

She lets out this  _huff_ and raises her brows.

"Maybe you shouldn't be so concerned with me. I'm not your child, Sebastian. You're being weird,"

Tense. Sebastian's whole body goes tense.

She goes on.

"I'm a grown woman. I'll do what I want and I know sure as hell that I don't need  _you_ tracking my each and every move."

_You. I don't need you. I know sure as hell._

It hits Sebastian like a fist to the heart and his stomach turns. Wishes his sadness into vexation, and finds it hard to keep his tongue bitten when he forces too-angry words back down his throat, clenching his fist uselessly. It hurts. It hurts.

Ana's face is unreadable, and it feels awfully,  _awfully_ long before either of them speak again. Make a move.

"..."

"Hey, hey, hey—"

She grabs Sebastian by the hem of his coat when he tries to brush past her, steadying him so that his thigh lays between her hips, and Sebastian  _certainly_ doesn't miss how heated her core seems, or how she looks up at him with big, green eyes.

Sebastian wants to shove her off.

"You're fucking ridiculous,"

"C'mon, babe. Relax. Lemme help you relax," She drawls out, wriggling her fingers in the fabric of his jacket. Tugging and pulling.

"You were stressed all day, weren't you? Lemme help you relax,"

Annoying. Annoying. Annoying.

"Let go of my jacke—"

Sebastian can't tell if he's more pissed than confused when he feels Ana's lips press against his.  _Way_ too eager, haughty and excited against his cold, firm, unmoving lips. He watches her eyes droop shut.

Sebastian's are wide open and angry.

He grabs Ana by her skinny arm and peels her off, feels disgusted and disappointed; this wasn't supposed to happen, no, not at all.

They were supposed to talk it out, maybe

put each other at ease

not this, no,  _certainly_ not this.

The look he gives her is one of disbelief and repulsion. Exasperation splats through his veins.  Murmurs a small, small  _i'm having an early night in. i don't need this right now_  and takes off his jacket after stepping away from Ana.

The air is thicker than Sebastian recalls.

Sebastian wonders why he can feel Ana's eyes boring into the back of his head as he's hanging it. Wants to whip towards her and scream a bit (maybe cry, too, but he'd never admit that), but he figures there's no way  _that_ would end pretty. Sebastian's tired. The day's been too long, and he feels fatigue draining him dry.

He wonders if he's expecting too much from her. 

Sebastian's not a stupid man. He can tell something's up, and that she probably was  _not_ with her friends. She hadn't left the house like that in months, and it makes his stomach flip to think about what she  _could_ be doing. Suspicions bloom in Sebastian's head. It hurts.

It hurts.

She hadn't jumped up on him like  _that_ in months, either. Especially not after rejecting subtle efforts on Sebastian's end time after time.

Sebastian's done everything right, hasn't he? People say he's the perfect man. Doesn't cheat, keeps God in his heart, doesn't over-season nor under-season his food. 

Maybe Sebastian is a bit too possessive. Needs to distance himself a bit, possibly. He prefers to keep his darlings near and dear, lest anything happen to them. Lest they betray him, perhaps.

Sebastian shakes his head, and runs his fingers through his hair.  Greasy. He needs to shower.

He marches straight upstairs and shuts the door behind himself, cringing at the rude  _SLAM_ that comes from it and promises he isn't  _that_ angry. Sebastian opts on burying his head into his pillow, and spending 3 hours staring into his ugly, too-bland cream white wall.

Several thoughts plague him in 180 minutes (why can't he get that goddamn  _Phantomhive_ kid out his head?!), and the feeling of his eyelids droning shut is what lulls him to sleep.

* * *

 

Sebastian wakes up an hour before his alarm. Ana's side of the bed is cold, just like yesterday. Empty.

The sheets aren't ruffled, though. They're neat and tidy. Look untouched, like nobody had been there anyway.

When Sebastian walks downstairs, he finds her sprawled out on the couch, t-shirt riding up her little waist, shorts hanging off her hips. Face shoved in a pillow, blanketless and cool to the touch when Sebastian runs a hand down her arm.

 _It's too cold not to be using a cover,_  Sebastian muses quiet.

Before he leaves, he makes sure to wrap Ana with one of their bigger blankets; careful not to wake her. Presses a soft, soft kiss to the back of her neck and leaves the house feeling semi-decent.

He tries to ignore the pit of discontentment building in his lower abdomen.

-

 _It's too bright and too early,_  Ciel grumbles to himself when he steps foot into Michaelis' classroom. He's the first one in, too.

Ciel gets curious when Michaelis instantly averts his eyes as he makes his way to his desk, despite chirping out a  _good morning!_  and offering a too-warm, unfamiliar grin.

Wonder why  _that_ may be.

Ciel's thighs grow colder by the second, and Ciel reckons he should've worn something that could actually give him warmth. His pale shorts don't provide much. Neither do his knee-socks, but there isn't much he can do about that.

Ciel slides into his chair. Michaelis doesn't even spare him a glance.

"Good morning," Ciel attempts.

It's completely silent (aside from the  _clicking_ and  _clacking_ of Michaelis typing), and he doesn't take his eyes away from the seemingly stubborn teacher. It's actually kind of  _funny_ to Ciel; he can practically sense how Michaelis bites down on his tongue, putting all of his energy into training his eyes to the computer. Occasionally tears that glare away to his mug of black coffee, and Ciel wrinkles his nose.

He's never understood how people can just drink it straight black. It tastes foul that way. Too bitter, too strong, it feels like a punch in the mouth. Ciel prefers his coffee with two creams and two sugars. Nice, sweet, and milky. Makes him feel warm inside.

Michaelis finally takes a deep breath and looks up at him slow, cocking a thin, arched brow and quirking the corner of his mouth.

Ciel squirms and presses his thighs together.

"Is there something on my face, Phantomhive?" His voice is raspy, deeper than Ciel remembers. Ciel doesn't  _think_ his face gives it away, but now he's certain his eyes bulged a little too much at the gravelly chuckle that follows.

"..You're interesting, Sir,"

"Please, it's just Mister,"

"Okay,  _Just Mister._  Whatcha doin'?"

Now they're both smiling, dumb and gleeful. It's probably too early for this, Ciel ponders as he finds the rings of dark beneath Michaelis' eyes. He looks a lot less cleaner than yesterday, too, and his tie is wrinkled.

Michaelis lets out this  _pained_ chuckle and pauses for a second or two.

". _..Teacher stuff._  Are you curious?" The dip in his voice makes it sound mocking and playful, and it sure as hell should  _not_ make Ciel's cheeks go as red as cherry, nor make his insides churn bashfully nor cause his  _dick_ to nearly jump.

Ciel tries to look less wide-eyed and horny and more teasing and tricksy.

He doesn't trust his voice enough to speak smooth and crack-less, so he hums out a light, light  _mmhhmm._ Doesn't wanna embarrass himself in front of Michaelis; especially not within the  _first_ week of meeting him. The thought itself makes Ciel's gut wrench.

"That's cute," Michaelis clicks his tongue.

Ciel presses his thighs tighter.

"You're early today, hmm? I've barely looked over my schedule,"

"Why don't you help me set up?" It's not so much as a question as it is a flat out demand when Michaelis rises from his desk and looks at Ciel expectantly. 

Ciel's more than willing, and he stands up faster than he would've liked, feels incredibly,  _incredibly_ tiny when Michaelis leans over his desk to hand him a pink marker. Michaelis is broad, his muscles strain through that white dress shirt, and Ciel thinks his index and thumb could meet around both his wrists. Maybe meet around his throat, too. Wrap around his thighs.

He feels himself flush light when their fingers brush, and Ciel nearly drops the marker.

"Relax, kid,"

Ciel is very,  _very_ thankful for how long his sweater is when Michaelis lets out another gravelly chuckle that goes straight to his dick.

His knees are almost wobbly when he walks to the blackboard, and he pretends not to hear the teacher stifle a laugh.

Ciel's stomach churns some more. He can't tell if it's butterflies or his breakfast threatening to leap out his esophagus. 

"Here — can you write the date for me?" Michaelis points to the top left corner of the board.

"..."

"..."

"I don't think I can reach that high, Sir," 

"..."

 _"...Ah._  Apologies. Why don't you write the... the... here, just take the schedule," Michaelis thrusts a sticky note with somewhat messy handwriting into Ciel's hands. The blush that lightly taints Michaelis' cheeks doesn't match his velvet-deep voice, nor his large,  _large_ body, nor his intimidating eyes and arched brows. 

Ciel thinks his heart may burst.

"Also, it's still Mister," 

"You keep your schedule on a sticky note,  _Sir_?" It's Ciel's turn to be playful, and he can't help the big, cheesy smirk that splats itself on his face. It's not like he's  _trying_ to be cliche or anything   — Ciel feels like this could easily fit in as a scene in one of those horribly corny chick-flicks where the schoolgirl's all infatuated with her upperclassmen.

"I— don't worry about it, kid. Just write down what we're doing today,"

And this is  _that_ scene where she shares a moment with  _him_. She goes all doe-eyed and dumb, the camera pans on her shaky hands, and just for a  _single_ moment, when they're both laughing and their eyes meet, she thinks she  _actually_ might have a chance with  _him_.

 _"It's still Mister!"_  Ciel catches the quiet murmur that slips through Michaelis' teeth and tries to bite the laugh that pries its way out his throat.   

Of course, she later gets her heart broken and falls in love with the protagonist —  _the nice guy_  — or something stupid like that.

Ciel is thankful that he can actually reach high enough to write down  _something_ about literary devices and poetic techniques, knees wobbly and dick half-hard and heart inflating with stupid teenage desires (Ciel wishes Michaelis would grab him by the waist and lift him up like a princess (to write the date), but he'd never,  _ever_ admit that).

He barely notices the other students filling in until he turns around to find the classroom half full.

* * *

 

Michaelis' voice almost sends him to sleep again; Ciel thinks he's going on about literary devices, and makes sure to perk his head up when he hears him start to call out on random kids. 

Ciel sticks his hand out this time. Wants to show Michaelis he's a  _good_ student, a good boy. Wants to show him he's not slacking. He straightens out his narrow shoulders and lifts his chin, makes sure his pretty hair doesn't cover too much of his pretty face.

Michaelis, however, lets his eyes run over Ciel and when he opens his lips to speak, Ciel's name isn't called out.

Instead, he hears a firm  _Finny._

He turns his head around, and the kid that Ciel thinks may be Finnypicks his head up. He has drool trailing down his chin.

Ciel wrinkles his nose and turns back around.

"Please, would you care to give us an example of a literary device?"

"Uhh... A  _what_?" Finny's voice is a high warble, and Ciel can hear his saliva smack with every syllable.

"We reviewed this yesterday. Do you not remember, Finny? Were you sleeping then, too?" Michaelis has his jaw clenched.

Ciel keeps his hand up and waits patiently. Tries his  _best_ not to wave it back and forth obnoxiously.

"Uhm... No. 'm sorry," Ciel thinks the blond doesn't really have much else to say when Michaelis scoffs and averts his gaze. Lets out this  _puff_ and finally drones his eyes over to Ciel's eager, eager hand. 

".. _Ciel_. Would you care to give us an example of a literary device?" Michaelis shouldn't be allowed to say his name. It sounds too good, too deep and too smooth. If it were a drink, Ciel thinks it would be some  _grown-up drink._  Some kind of wine he's seen Mother sip in a special glass on Saturday evenings.

Ciel gulps, his big blue eye lights up, and he nods his head.

"Onomatopoeia; refers to words that are used to depict sounds. Examples of an onomatopoeia would be woof, huff, pow, and boom," It all comes out a bit too fast, but Ciel reckons Michaelis catches it all. Ciel talks fast when he's nervous. Sometimes jumbles his words, too, and it ends up sounding like if someone were to read from unorganized  _scrabble_ pieces.

Michaelis raises both brows and smiles warm and wide. It's  _genuine_ and Ciel gnaws down on his lip to prevent himself from squeaking.

"Very good," 

Ciel flushes pink and presses his palm down on his groin.

He really,  _really_ tries to ignore how his heart nearly skips out his chest. Also tries to ignore the blonde beside him side-eyeing the hell out of him. Ciel peeks out the corner of his eye, and it's not particularly a  _nasty_ glare; it's more-so fascination than anything. Like he's some creature she's never seen before.

Ciel clears his throat and offers a subtle little grin.

_"Do I have something on my face?"_

Instantly, she forces a tight-lipped smile. It looks more like a grimace to Ciel.

"Erm... No." She doesn't say much else before turning her head away from Ciel. A bit boring, but Ciel feels this smugness building up in his chest.

He checks the time.

9:27.

33 minutes til next period. 

He groans. Slides his elbows down slow, and buries his head in his arms only to instantly perk up as Michaelis begins handing out a couple of worksheets. He says it's to practice their ability to spot literary devices, and Ciel thinks he's heard the term  _literary devices_  about 100 times today.

He quickly fills out the worksheet and patiently awaits the bell. Absentmindedly doodles on the corners of his page.

* * *

 

_Tap tap._

Ciel turns around. Blonde #1 looks at him expectantly.

"Hey. Your name's Ciel, right?" Ciel raises a brow. 

Uncomfortable.

"Uhh.. yes?"

"You wanna have lunch with us?" Blonde #1 is smacking gum as she speaks, and Ciel thinks he's seen this scene in the movies, too, about  _100_ times. Doe-eyed, airhead blonde, infatuated with her handsome teacher. Chews florescent pink bubblegum and wears bras two sizes too big (not that Ciel checked out her  _cleavage_ , or anything. He thinks they're an eyesore).

The little bit of silence makes Blonde #1 jut her neck at Ciel and widen her eyes a bit, urging him to speak. Ciel just thinks she looks stupid.

"....Sure...?"  _May as well._

"Hold on, I think he's in my second period! Oi, aren't you in science with me?" Ciel wasn't expecting the loud, boyish voice to come booming from behind Blonde #1. He doesn't let himself cringe at the sudden noise (though his shoulders almost instinctively shoot up — Ciel hates random loud noises).

The owner of said voice peeks out from behind Blonde #1, and Ciel thinks if he squints, they look identical.

"...I don't know, am I? I do have science next period with Sir F. Abberli-" 

"You  _ARE_ in my second period! I sit right beside you, dumbass. Don't tell me you forgot me,"

Ciel forces a smile and almost feels  _bad_ for not even recalling either of their names. Doesn't feel comfortable with the sudden  _nickname_  coming from somebody terribly unfamiliar.

Nevertheless, he keeps the stupid, horribly forced smile on his lips. It's painful, but he insists on remaining cordial.

"Uhm.. I might have. I apologize," 

"Whatever. You'll get to know all of us, soon, anyway. You're gonna have lunch with us,"

_Who the hell is 'us'?_

Ciel has never been more thankful for the convenience of the bell when it blares loud and startling, practically in his ear. He quickly hurries out Michaelis' classroom before remembering—

_"Aye! Why are you going so fast?! Wait for me!"_

* * *

 

After school hours are  _boring_ to Sebastian.

He's only contracted to stay until 3:30, but he usually ends up staying until much, much after, trying to finish as much paperwork as possible

Sebastian hates taking papers home. Almost all are an eyesore; it's like nobody really gives a shit that he's gonna be reading them later. Grading them later. Trying to decipher cursive scribbles is something that Sebastian isn't getting paid for, and fluorescent pink ink makes Sebastian wish he brought his glasses with him today (and makes Sebastian wish for a second paycheck). 

That  _kid_ keeps plaguing his mind, too. If Sebastian's honest, it's almost getting  _annoying_ at this point. Ciel shouldn't even be anywhere near Sebastian's mind — he'd just finished up with a twelfth grade class, with much prettier girls and boys 10 times as charming. Girls with big, big racks, nearly legal and more than willing to spread their thighs for Sebastian (not that he'd ask, of course — Ana never quite leaves his mind. Eye candy doesn't quite count, does it?) and boys with higher cheekbones and plumper lips and bluer eyes. 

 _It's because he's the new kid and he sticks out like a sore thumb,_  Sebastian reassures himself.  _What boy dresses in shorts and thigh-highs, anyway? not normal ones. not ones that don't stick out like sore thumbs._

_normal boys don't wear pretty girl shirts, either. not shirts that expose their pretty shoulders nor shorts that barely cover their bums._

Sebastian gulps, and curses himself out for even going  _there_.

 He's never considered himself to be perverted. Of course, Sebastian's had his moments of weakness.  _Just a little peek_ , he'd promise himself. Was a little  _rowdier_ in college, but he's past those times, learned what boundaries and personal-bubbles are after getting slapped and cursed at time after time.

Sebastian wishes he could hold his mind in a death-grip to keep it from wandering. Because he knows he sure as  _hell_ should  _not_ be thinking about that kid's pale, pale legs that seem to go all the way up, despite his minuscule height. Little bits of baby fat spilling out his knee-socks. Creates the cutest little pudge, and Sebastian feels his stomach turn.

A good man does  _not_ think about little boy legs. Especially not little boy thighs and pretty, plushy little boy lips. Pink and glossy. Bitten raw when he zones out. 

It doesn't help that the paper he grades next is Ciel's. 

Kid's handwriting is pretty nice, though. It's clean, neat, and definitely not an eyesore. He uses dark purple ink, and dots his  _i'_ sand  _j'_ swith hearts. Sebastian can also come to appreciate the little daisy and floral doodles in the corner of the paper, and how it slowly blooms into the blank white of the worksheet.

Sebastian snorts. 

_Cute._

Ciel's ink doesn't bleed into the back of the page, and his penmanship is consistent throughout the entirety of the work —doesn't slack off or get messy towards the end of his sentences. Even his periods are little tiny hearts, and Sebastian admits to only himself that it's  _somewhat_ endearing. 

Kid's not dumb, either. At all. Sebastian thinks he could be at the top of his classes already, having been in this school for a total of _two_ fucking days. All of his answers are spot on. He uses perfect punctuation and remembers to capitalize his letters at the beginning of his sentences. Perfect. All of it's perfect. Marking it barely takes 5 minutes, and Sebastian's impressed with the kid. 

Not necessarily too good to be true (Sebastian takes what he can get), but he thinks Ciel may or may not be a handful and a half. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i seriously cannot wait to pick up the damn pace. i feel like i'm accidentally gonna let a fat ass spoiler slip and ruin everything lmao but hey - patience is a virtue.
> 
> let me know what you thought about this chapter! leave a kudos, too!


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IGHT SORRY FOR THE DELAY!!!!!!!!!!! life happened, 20 prompts happened, but hopefully this semi-lengthy chapter will make up for it!!! uh. forgive the shitty french. i'm still learning and the grammar's probably fucked, but just know it was attempted with love lmao.

Empty.

Sebastian's house is completely empty.

He used his key to unlock the front door. Wasn't greeted with a smile, nor a hug, nor the smell of cooking spices loading the air right through the door. Wasn't greeted with Ana when he knocked nice and hard three times, whistling quiet and uselessly optimistic.

Sebastian can't tell if his stomach churns with anger or worry. A mixture of both, maybe. All he knows is that it doesn't feel good, and he doesn't like it. Not one bit.

Anger starts overwhelming worry quick.

Two days in a row she hasn't been home without an explanation.

Sebastian tells himself to relax, cool down. It's not that serious, right? Couldn't be. He's being unreasonable.

Two days. In a row.

He at least deserves an explanation, doesn't he?  _Surely_ Ana remembers how worried sick he got yesterday. She wouldn't let Sebastian agonize into overthinking everything again.

Right?

Two days.

Sebastian is not a happy man.

Two.

His knuckles run white and angry.

Days.

Sebastian doesn't mean to drop — well, more like  _slam_ — his suitcase to the floor. It makes a loud, cringe-inducing  _BAM_ , and Sebastian immediately wishes he hadn't.

 _Falling victim to anger doesn't make you any better than what induced_  it is what Sebastian repeats to himself. Over and over. He doesn't realize how his palm pulsates painful til he releases his fist, rubs the marks his nails printed.

It's odd to Sebastian. He wonders why his temper's gotten cut so short. Swears up and down he used to be a patient, patient man. Could tolerate anything and everything, all with a wide, jaunty smile and eyes that spoke louder than his mouth. He shouldn't be getting mad at his darling dearest like this, right? Bad. Sebastian's not bad. Sebastian's good. But this is not good.

Not good at all.

Sebastian slips off his shoes.

He can feel himself cooling down with every dragged, slouching step he takes. Good. Better. Sebastian's palm still hurts, and he curses himself for being so goddamn reactive.

Sebastian prides himself in being collected. Trustworthy. Placid and tranquil. He's heard it from his own students, too. Heard the  _he's so calm and sooothing!_. Heard the flattering yet embarrassing  _you know, sebastian. my son over here says he'd love to be juust like you when he grows up. you're a real inspiration, you know._

Sebastian wishes he was half the man they thought he was.

One thought in particular doesn't seem to escape him;

_What am I doing wrong?_

Sebastian can't help it. Poor man's been wracking his mind with bad thoughts and ugly suspicions that slowly drive him to worse thoughts and uglier suspicions. They give Sebastian a migraine and an upset stomach.

He paces around in hasty circles, socks squeaking funny against kitchen tiles.

"Relax. It's too early for this." Sebastian thinks out loud in jittering speech and forced chuckles. Eyes his fridge for a minute (or five) before opting on opening it, fingers tentative when they wrap around the handle.

He shouldn't. It's no use.

It takes a minute of Sebastian's thoughts rounding up in conflictions and jumping to conclusions til he groans in defeat. Mumbles an unsure  _fuck it_  and swings the door open, eyes immediately latching onto a 6-pack of what he most definitely should  _not_ be reaching for.

Those hands work a little faster than his brain, though.

Sebastian hastily breaks two cans of too-old, you-shouldn't-be-drinking-this Budweiser from flimsy plastic that secures the pack.

He already regrets it when he pops it open, tossing a tiny piece of metal behind. Brings it to his lips, and feels himself wrench in dread. He'd been clean for a while, too. Promised not to take a single drop since a certain  _incident_. Wasn't pretty.

Sebastian doesn't like to think about it.

It'd be a waste to just dump it, though. Sebastian doesn't like being wasteful. He slides the other can onto his counter, and swears he'll only finish what he's started.

Besides, it's not like Sebastian can get drunk off  _one_ beer. Sebastian's a big man. Has a big tolerance to match, and an even bigger sense of awareness.

 _Just one_ , Sebastian promises. No biggie. He'll give the what's remaining of the pack away as a surprise gift to one of his coworkers, or something. Bard's not a picky man. Likes dusty beer. Sebastian thinks he'll worry about that later.

5:39.

20 minutes.

20 minutes that Sebastian's come home. 10 odd hours and 20 minutes since he's seen Ana. Since he's had any contact with her. It worries Sebastian bad. Way more than it should. Makes bad thoughts bloom like ugly weeds that drain him of hope.

Sebastian doesn't  _mean_  to finish half the can (was it half? three quarters? Sebastian can't tell, but the can feels a  _lot_ lighter) by the time he pulls it away from his lips and grunts for air. Tastes just the same as it did 10 years ago. It brings back memories, nostalgia, and regret.

The other can doesn't look as bad anymore, either. Sebastian's taste-buds yearn for more, and suddenly, Sebastian  _really_ wishes someone was there to slap him and tell him to get his shit together.

It's pathetic, really.

Sebastian doesn't know how he managed to finish the can of nasty, bitter yeast by the second time he brings it to his lips. It doesn't even  _taste_ good. Tastes sad and unfulfilling, though Sebastian keeps thinking about that damned second can.

He shakes his head and crushes the weak metal into a sad, flat circle. He feels stupid. Incredibly stupid.

Sebastian's stomach churns and bile fills his mouth disgusting.

Sebastian  _really_ feels the regret.

When his phone vibrates, a soft hum of  _bzzt!_ , he whips it out too quick and too hopeful. Prays to see a notification with  _her_ name riddling the title, or something. He almost throws the device when he sees it's some weather notification, and not Ana.

Foolish. Sebastian feels more than foolish.

Maybe he just needs to talk to somebody. Sebastian considers calling a friend (can Sebastian even  _call_  them friends? They're just coworkers that know a thing or three about Sebastian). Rant a little. Talk about it. His chest swells heavy, and now Sebastian just  _misses_  Ana. Doesn't even feel like he's her husband anymore. It makes his eyes burn, jaw clench, and Sebastian forces ugly, bittersweet tears back.

Strong men aren't meant to cry. Aren't built to cry. Sebastian's brain talks him back into rationality, and he puffs his chest all big and mighty. Takes a deep breath. Steadies himself.

His fingers dial a number faster than he can process what he's doing, though. Big thumb presses call, paced  _rriiiiinnng. rriiiiinnng. rriiiiinnng_ s fill his ears, and Sebastian regrets it immediately.

And to his dismay, Ana  _actually_ picks up.

"..What, Sebastia-"

"Fuck, it's so nice to hear your voice. Where-Where are you, Ana?"

He can hear her drag the phone away from her ear and scoff.

Sebastian can tell she's wearing the pearl earrings he bought her for their anniversary last year. Real pearl, real expensive. They clack against the device, and Sebastian feels a big, stupid smile break out on his face.

Maybe he  _is_  a little hopeful. Doesn't know for what, but he feels reassured. Warmed.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there in— _hahaha, stop, stop, 'm talking to 'Bastian_ —I'll get home in... erm... like.. an hour,"

Ana doesn't sound certain. Sebastian doesn't like that.

"An  _hour_? Ana, where are yo-"

"Can't you get off my fuckin' back for a  _day_?  _Juust_ a  _day_? You've been all clingy lately, 'nd it's damn annoying."

Sebastian's knuckles run white again.

"..Ana. Where are you? Are you-"

"Drunk? No. Shut up— _stop doing that, asshole_ —You're bein' unreeaaasonable. Any-Anyway, I'll be there in an hour. Don't getcha big girl panties in a twist."

"..."

"I didn't say anything about you being- _Are_ you fucking drunk? Where are you? Are you with someone?"

" _Seebbassttiiaann_. Stop fuckin'-"

"Ana, who is that?" Sebastian's knee's jiggling when he goes to take a seat in one of the shitty wooden chairs that go with their equally shitty wooden table. He can hear a distinct laugh coming from somewhere — can't tell if it's male or female, but it's high and haughty.

Sebastian's stomach turns.

"I'll fucking hang up on your ass righ' n— _aha, you priick, I said ssttoopp_ —I'll hang up righ' fuckin' now."

He takes a deep breath.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time but  _this_  time, you're gonna tell me  _where_ the hell you are and  _who_ the hell you're with."

"For fuuucks sake, Sebastian. 's why I haven't given you any pussy for like, what, a month? 'n last time I tried to give you some, you told me to fuck righ' off."

Laughter in the background. Muffled snickers.

"What, now you don' have nothing to say? Where did all that confidence go, you dooggg?" 

"You jus' wanna control me, don't you? 'm not your fuckin' daughter, 'Bastian. You needta fuck off sometimes."

"'s why we don' even  _have_ a daughter. Don' want her to have some jackass father like yoouu."

Sebastian thinks his tongue might bleed from how hard his teeth gnaw down on it. Eyes burn blurry. Hurts.

"Helllooo? Y'there? 'Baasstiiaa-" He hangs up. Doesn't wanna hear any more of it. Painful. It makes Sebastian's chest bubble up angry. Mind speed with bad decisions. Not good. Sebastian almost hurls his phone across the kitchen before opting to slide it face-down on shitty dark hardwood.

He bolts up from the shitty hardwood chair and paces in oblong circles, fingers clenched tight in dark, mussed hair. Mindlessly mumbles. Sebastian lets his mouth run.  _Drunk. It's 5pm. Drunk. Ana's drunk. Alone. Not with me. Hates me. No. She hates me. No._

Sebastian's surprised at the frustrated groan that rips out his throat. Feels like sandpaper and leaves an unsatisfied taste on his tongue. Sebastian's fingers clench tighter. Hurts. He feels a strand (or 50) pull out when he releases those hands, and Sebastian rubs his head.

" _Fucking_ -"

Thursdays aren't supposed to be muggy and ugly. Not frustrating and stressing. Sebastian likes Thursdays. It's just about the time that anticipation for the weekend builds, and it gives Sebastian a spike of motivation. Home feels a lot cozier, too.

Sebastian doesn't like this Thursday one bit. Home doesn't feel like home. Home feels constricting and angering. Dread-inducing, maybe. He can't tell if home's a place or a person at this point, but all he knows is that the room he paces in, floor he walks on, clock he eyes at feel a little more unfamiliar. Unwelcoming. Condemnatory. 

It's with a final sigh and puff of Sebastian's chest that he decides on going out. Home isn't home, so he figures,  _whatever. doesn't matter anyway. not like ana'd care or anything. waste of time._

_i don't matter to her, do i? not that much, anyway._

He prays the feeling of undeniable  _sadsadsad_ building dreadful in his abdomen'll wear away quick as he drives.

* * *

 

Dark roast coffee is calming. It's Sebastian's favourite. Prefers them with no sugars, no creams. Tastes nice and raw that way; wakes Sebastian up quick, warms his body quicker. Sugary coffee's never quite appealed to Sebastian (is it even real coffee if you drown it in milk and additives?). He doesn't understand how Ana can down those whatever-frappesone after another and another. Last time he tried to finish one (Sebastian thinks it was caramel-pumpkin, or something), his teeth felt like sugar-glassed hard-candy and he nearly  _threw_ it back up.  _How the hell do you drink these? they're so bad for you! like crack, or something_ , Sebastian asked disgusted. Ana laughed at him.

_not my fault you're just a feeble old health-nut. they taste goood._

_shut up. i'm not even that much older than you._

Sebastian thinks that was the last time she gave him a wide, genuine smile. Not doused in artificial sugar. Not forced nor strained. Pretty. Beautiful. Sebastian misses that smile.

"Welcome back, Sebastian. What can I get you today?" 

The smile that greets him isn't Ana's, but it's just as wide and just as genuine. Agni is a kind, gentle man. Polite and respectful. He asks Sebastian what he wants even though he  _knows_ it's gonna be the same thing as always -  _medium dark roast , black, and a carrot muffin. those have the least sugar, right?_  Keeps it nice and cordial, even sometimes bowing his head upon acknowledging customers.

"Medium dark roast, black... And a cherry scone with extra butter."

Agni laughs. Light and comforting. 

"Treating yourself today, hm?" 

"Hah.. Maybe. 's been a long day." Agni makes Sebastian feels semi-normal. Doesn't put him on a special pedestal, doesn't ask him anything out of  _the norm._ Heminds his business. Sebastian appreciates it more than ever today.

"That'll be 5.99. Cash?"

"Mhm."

 _Chez La Cerise Noir_. Sebastian's always loved this little cafe - it's about 30 minutes away, but Sebastian thinks it's worth the drive. It's humble, homey, and calms him to the core. He wishes he could come every day.

It's kind of funny,  _Chez La Cerise Noir_. Agni's no Frenchman. The conversation he and Sebastian had when the teacher'd came with a big smile, speaking too-curious and too-familiar  _ah, j'aime votre cafe, monsieur! c'est très bien! tu parle français, oui?_  Agni had forced a smile. Scrambled with the pocket on his apron and shakily pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.  _Uh. if you'd just give me a s-second._ Cheeks flushed dark. _uhm. je-je ne.. je ne parle pas français. je... parle... an-anglais. pardon._

It was peculiar. Seeing this large, tall man who probably has 50 pounds on Sebastian mumble unsure, avert his eyes shy. Stumble over his words. Maybe blush, too. It was endearing, and it took a good 5 minutes of Agni laughing uncomfortably for him to explain that  _oh. i just. it's really embarrassing. i took french class once, and thought that was good enough. i don't- i don't actually know how to speak french, sir. i wanna change the name, but it's kind of my brand now. ahaha. uhm. s-sorry._

Sebastian loves the café all the same, though. Loves it from the soft cushion couches to the semi-stale bread they serve towards the end of the day. He can also come to appreciate the fact that his spot is never taken when he comes in. Doesn't matter if it's 7am or 7pm - one promising, cushioned little sofa-seat is never occupied when Sebastian comes in to relax. Has a little dark wood table that's roughly knee height to Sebastian, and a small fake fireplace blowing warm air to his left. It's perfect, and Sebastian occasionally props his legs up on the table (it's not rude if nobody sees) and reads his book in contentment. Soft music flowing through the air. Sebastian thinks he's at his prime like this. Nice and calm. Perfect serendipity.

His gut jumps when he sees the back of a little grey-haired head. Body wrapped in a thin, white jacket and legs slightly bowed. Calves enveloped by white knee-socks. Sebastian thinks he recognizes the pink converse.

_For fucks sake._

He's too quick to pick out a miscellaneous book from his satchel (To Kill a Mockingbird? Hamlet? Oedipus Rex? He doesn't look at the cover) and flip to a random page. Knocks his legs off the table and crosses them quicker, stiff and rigid.

It's not Ciel.

Couldn't be. What are the odds, anyway? Kid comes to the same coffee shop as Sebastian at the same day at roughly the same time. Weird ( _no, it's not - /you're/ being weird, sebastian_ he scolds himself), but possible. Sebastian tries to dismiss his suspicions. Nothings wrong with seeing a student outside of school, after all. He shouldn't be stressing over nothing.

Why  _is_  he stressing over nothing?

Sebastian shakes his head and tries to continue reading (half a page in - it's  _definitely_  Hamlet), though he sees everything in his peripheral. It's annoying. Sebastian almost groans into Hamlet's inner-spine.

Serendipity feels  _fake_.

Not Ciel turns around, and Sebastian's instantly urged to avert his gaze because, fuck, shit, fuck, it  _is_  Ciel, and the kid grins all wide and cheeky. Waves his little hand. Turns back around to face the pretty, ginger woman beside him and tugs on her sleeve. Sebastian hears kid's voice pitch in high and polite, though he doesn't catch a  _single_ word of what leaves that mouth. Kid turns back around excited.

All Sebastian can manage is a forced, blatantly uncomfortable smile, and suddenly he wishes the kid buttoned up his jacket because now all Sebastian can see are those collarbones, those pretty lips, and if he lowers his eyes, he sees those thighs, and  _now_ Sebastian hates himself all the more.

He slaps his gaze back to Hamlet and forces himself to focus on Shakespeare's scripture. Sebastian thinks it shouldn't take him all of his energy. Leans over to grab his barely touched mug of coffee, takes a quick sip and swears quiet when it burns his lips. Sets it back down.

Is he even reading the book? Sebastian's thoughts echo too loud, can't process words right, can't focus on anything properly, and it takes Sebastian 5 minutes of being zoned out on the word  _thine_ for him to snap back quick and vaguely confused.

"..You're a slow reader, arentcha, Mister?"

Sebastian's teeth bite his tongue faster than it can roll out a string of surprised curses.

"That's better."

"Pardon?"

"You called me  _Mister_." 

Ciel almost looks  _pained_ when a chuckle bursts out his bony little chest. It makes Sebastian choke on a chuckle of his own, and it feels (and probably looks) stupid.

Kid plops down on the seat next to him, squeaks quiet when he lands on surprisingly soft cushioning, and Sebastian wants to pass out because  _why, god why does this kid smell like peaches and cream?!_

"What are you reading, anyway?"

Sebastian clears his throat. Furrows a brow and wishes he had his spectacles resting low on his nose so he could push them up obnoxiously.

".. _Grown-up_  stuff-"

"-Hamlet?"

Ciel scoffs.  

Sebastian blinks.

"Where's your mother?"

"Em... I'd be right here, Sir." The pretty woman from before towers behind Ciel. She shares the same cheeky grin, though her eyes bear threats and possession. Sebastian barely has it in him to maintain eye contact, and he wishes he didn't gulp when he saw the fucking  _rhinestoned_  Rolex bedazzling her thin wrist. She's got jewelry draping off her neck elegant, and yes, this is  _definitely_ Ciel's mother.

"Ciel, dear, won't you tell me who this nice man is?" She slides a manicured hand onto her son's shoulder and grasps firm. Sebastian can tell by how the jacket fabric bunches up fast and tight.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? This is my English teacher,  _Sir_  Michaelis. I have him first period eevveerryyddaayy." Ciel's too bright and too charming. Sebastian hates that it's not fake, either. Hates how a sense of fondness washes over his senses; especially when that boy looks back up at him with a wide, blue eye and flutters his lashes pretty.

Sebastian closes Hamlet and places it back into his satchel. Grabs his mug and grips too tight. Chortles uncomfortably.

"Ohh, yes, I remember - Sir Michaelis!  _Ciiieeelll_ , you didn't tell me he'd be here! Allow me to introduce myself formally." Kid's mother talks fast and clear and she wears satiny nude lipstick that Sebastian thinks he recognizes; Ana has at least 10 tubes of of  _that_ kind of shade, swears that  _they have different undertones!!_  He's never quite understood nude lipsticks. It's no different than just, not wearing lipstick. Right? Makes no sense, but Sebastian figures it's not for him to make sense of.

"I'm Rachel Phantomhive." Like mother, like son, Sebastian muses. She's just as charming, and those icy eyes warm up to him, and now Sebastian finds resemblance in those big, big blues. His mother's pretty. Real pretty. He hates that his eyes instinctively run over her hands in search for a ring, and it's stupid, because of course she's married.

He wants to bang his head against the hardwood of that little coffee table.

"Sebastian Michaelis. And please, drop the Sir. I much prefer Mister. Or just Sebastian. For you. Uhm. Ciel's gonna  _stay_ calling me Mr. Michaelis." Sebastian almost rambles, but stops himself before he verges on embarrassing. Takes the elegant hand outstretched to him into his. Shakes it with a soft grip, and wow, Rachel has softer hands. The silver of her rings rub against his skin funny.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sebastian. You wouldn't mind if we sat with you, would you?"

It feels wrong to turn down Rachel and her creased, persuading eyes when she smiles wider and warmer. Like mother, like son, and Ciel's got that same humble grin plastered across his little face.

"No, not at all, Rachel. I'm glad to make your acquaintance."

Rachel sounds nice rolling off his tongue. He tries to ignore how Ciel stares fire-hot holes into his head as his mother takes the seat beside him, leaning down to rest her elbow on the table and talking too familiar and comfortable for Sebastian's taste.

* * *

 

Michaelis really,  _really_  likes Mother. Ciel finds that quick. 

His eyes wrinkle when he smiles wide and gleeful, chuckles deep and bone-chilling at all of Mother's jokes, jabs of humour. That smile doesn't leave his face, not for a second while Mother talks about whatever she wants. About business, work, cooking, diamonds,  _Father_ , even.

Michaelis takes it all in with a polite nod and an approval-craving grin. Retorts with agreement and nothing more.

Ciel doesn't like that. His back's grown tense, wants to stop shuffling his little feet to keep up with Mother and Michaelis' long, long legs, and feels frustration building up in his little chest.

He doesn't say anything, though. Being the son of millionaires means he too, takes in everything with a polite nod and an approval-craving grin. Ciel thinks he's nearly mastered the art of sugarcoating smiles and fluttering long, dainty lashes.

Michaelis seems to only have eyes for Mother, though. Fluttery, mascara-sopped lashes and lip-gloss lathered lips go to waste today.

The air blows cold through Ciel's cool grey hair, and he jams his hands into his teeny tiny pockets.

Knee socks and denim shorts don't do much for warmth in mid-November. 

"You've let me talk too much, Sebastian. I'm embarrassed." Mother speaks softly with a softer grin, and Ciel nearly grimaces. 

Though it bares the wrinkles of her eyes, the compassion in her irises, the humbleness of her cheeks as they rise to fake authenticity - he's not a stupid boy. That's no  _genuine_  grin. It'd be a lie to say Ciel hadn't seen it hundreds of times before. Mother's a clever woman, and she uses it to coax things out of people. Feed 'em with pity and get them wrapped around her expensive, ice-decked, manicured finger. It's gotten sales sold, 6 figures dropped, products out of stock.

Mother loves to frequent that  _game_ , Ciel's found over time. Like mother, like son, and he bows his head to try that smile of trickery for himself.

The look that crosses Michaelis' eyes is one that makes Ciel's chest throb with stupid admiration.

Ciel hates that, too.

"Ah, haha, not at all, Rachel. I don't mind. Really." The humble quirk of Michaelis' mouth is genuine- _er_ and warmer. Ugly butterflies make themselves home at Ciel's churning stomach.

"Why don't you tell me a little more about  _you_ , hm? Got a missus waiting for you back home? Maybe a couple bundles of joy?" 

Ciel can tell when the genuine glee drops dead from his teacher's face, and if Ciel were a cat, his ears would perk up intrigued. Tail slinging curious. 

"Mmhm. Got a  _missus._ Just no uh.. bundles of joy." Michaelis scratches the back of his neck. Awkward and uncomfortable doesn't suit him, and Ciel can tell the man doesn't want to talk. It's loud in his the way his whole body stiffens, shoulders rise and tense.

Mr. Michaelis is married. Has a wife. 

Married.

Wife.

Mr. Michaelis has a wife. 

Ciel hates that he was hoping for otherwise. Hates that he actually  _had_ a shred of hope, too. He reminds himself that he'll never have a chance (whatever  _that_ means), anyway. It's stupid, it's ignorant, it's  _childish_ to think he even  _might_. Ciel doesn't wanna be childish. Mister likes women. Probably likes pretty girls with big tits. Ciel blushes. Doesn't like that. Doesn't have big tits, either. 

Lip gloss and mascara don't make him a girl. They make him  _pretty_ , but Mister only likes girls. Women. Not boys. Ciel doesn't like being a boy. Maybe he'd make a pretty girl for Michaelis. Maybe Michaelis  _would_ like him better if he did have big tits and a pussy. Longer hair, maybe. Softer shoulders and softer legs.

Ciel clenches his tiny fists and hates the burn of tears pricking his eye.

It's stupid.

Mother keeps a charming smile on her lipstick-slick lips.

"She's a  _lucky_ lady, hm? You're a wonderful man, Sebastian."

Michaelis lowers his gaze and presses his mouth into a thin line.

"Ah.. Thank y-"

"What's her name, Sir? I'm  _curious_." Ciel blurts it out quick and forced, immediately feels shit for cutting him off, and keeps his head down. Feels Michaelis burning into his hair with a hot, hot stare. Ciel thinks he might throw up the butterflies. 

"..Ana. Her name's Ana." 

"Ana and Sebastian Michaelis. Don't they sound  _loovely_ , Mum?" It wasn't meant to sound mocking, Ciel promises. It's too late to take it back, though, maybe correct himself a little when Michaelis looks down at him with this  _look_ , and when Ciel meets those dark, dark eyes, it feels like he might faint. Ciel might faint. His head suddenly feeling 10x lighter convinces him so. Mister's eyes are pretty, and he thinks there are little specs of rose gold in them. They look a lot better up close. Ciel thinks he'd be happy if they were the last things he saw before passing out.

"Qu-Quite so, Ciel." Mother shoots him this other  _look_  that makes him wish his lips were stapled together. "Ana's a lovely name-"

The sound of an xylophone being played interrupts her mid-sentence, and Mother flinches, blinks. The source comes from one of Mister's jacket pockets. He stammers a little, mumbles an apology. Fishes his phone out from a pocket, and Ciel thinks it looks absurdly tiny in his hands.

Michaelis' whole entire face lights up like a Christmas tree.

Then it drops.

Quick.

"Oh. Uhm. I have-I have to take this. Pardon me." 

He holds up a single finger and presses the big green  _pick up_  button. Brings the device to his ear and exhales a puff of cool air.

Michaelis has thick lashes, Ciel finds. Michaelis has strong cheekbones. Michaelis has a really nice nose. Ciel swallows thick saliva. 

He pauses before uttering out a hesitant ".. _Ana_?"

Ciel's ears perk up.

"Are you home now? ... _No_ , I'm not-" Ciel thinks he hears yelling. 

"Calm down. I'm in public. Ana, c-" A female voice. Loud and pronounced and angry. Ciel wishes his hearing was a little sharper. 

"I'm  _not_ gonna have this con-" Mister gets cut off and hung up on. Right in his face. Mister really, really seems like a deserving man when he forces an empathetic smile onto his face. Murmurs an apology and chuckles uncomfortable. Presses his fingers on his temples and shakes his head.

It's a wonder what  _he_ could've done to elicit that kind of phone call. Ciel thinks he would  _never_ hang up on Michaelis like that. Treat him better than she can.

Mother quirks a brow. Ciel's eye is all wide and curious.

"I shouldn't have taken that in front of my  _student_ and his mother. I suppose I have to go, now." He chuckles awkward. Ciel puffs his chest. "I really wish we could've ended this on a nicer note, but-"

" _Siiirrr_ , don't apologize. 's not your fault. 's fine! Promise." 

_My student. His._

Mister called him his.

"Thank you, Ciel. It's been a lovely evening." He doesn't hear the  _and thank you, rachel. i'm definitely in your debt, haha_  because Michaelis is warm and Ciel's cool surface melts quick like glass melding over a hot fire. He thinks his knees may or may not give out. He doesn't hear his Mother's  _ahh, not at all. this was my treat_ either.

_My student. Ciel. His. Thank you._

_My student. Ciel. His._

Ciel repeats his name in Michaelis' too-deep voice over and over, fills his little brain to the brim with thoughts and confessions and unrequited wishes.

He doesn't believe in God. Not _really_. Ciel thinks this is the first time he's shut his eyes and prayed that this wouldn't be the last time he heard Michaelis speak  _that_ close to him with  _that_ sincerity and informality.

He doesn't know what he's praying for, really, but he hopes for the best. 

(The minute he got home, he went straight up to his bedroom and tugged his little shorts down as fast as his fingers could manage. Came twice to the thought of Mister's pretty lashes, cheekbones, and that  _voice_.

_Ciel. My student. His._

_Thank you._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave me a kudos (pretty please) & comment! let me know how you feel about this chapter!
> 
> also, if you haven't already, please go ahead and follow me on my tumblr @vexing-young-master! i'm super duper active on there, and i'd love to answer any questions y'all have. i also have a couple other aus and stuff that y'all can check out, too!


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __[born too late for you to notice me](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dh3mfPDSbl-4&t=ZjliNzcwZjQwMTJhMGUzOWI5NjEzMmZlZDU3NjE5OGMyYmU3MGY5MSxzdHZRZFVubA%3D%3D&b=t%3AX25BOErIw0zb8aT_4HL-Dw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fvexing-young-master.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172995707038%2Fvexing-young-master-chapter-5-of-sugar-laced-is&m=1)  
>  to you, i’m just a kid that you won’t date  
> why was i born too late?

_"Nnn.. haah.. sh-shit,"_

Two weeks.

Ciel shivers, wriggles his bony little hips.

_"Mmm..!"_

It's been two weeks since he got coffee with Michaelis.

Ciel draws a gasp into his wheezy, wheezy lungs.

Two weeks since he got to see Michaelis' face up close and personal, two weeks since he saw a big, fat, genuine smile plastered across that gorgeous face.

Two weeks he's spent fisting his dick and humping bed-sheets to Michaelis' voice and Michaelis' face.

"F-fuck,"

Ciel bites down on a fluffy white pillow.

Digging his teeth deep into what he imagines _definitely_ isn't cheap pillow-casing, clutching handfuls of definitely-not-cheap duvet in his grabby little hands, and burying his face into pillow fluff is all the boy thinks can keep him from crying out Mister's name, loud and proud. It's surprising, how easy kid's knees go weak, how his dick throbs painful, how the hairs all over his baby-soft body stand upon thinking about his teacher's voice. He shouldn't. He _knows_ he shouldn't. Kid could hardly look Michaelis in the eye and talk to him like a _normal_ human being the day after they got coffee, due to the two, three, _four_ times he brought himself to cum that night, teacher's name written all over his tongue. That wide smile, those creased eyes, those lips and those _hands_ only reminded Ciel of late nights full of jerking off, eyes tear-laden and sobs escaping his throat pathetically. Face either buried in a pillow, in the crook of his elbow, or teeth gnawing down on a towel, his chest hiccing with pleas of Mister's surname (he can _hardly_ bring himself to say his _first_ ). It's stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ciel moans into his pillowcase, anyway. Drives bony hips into wetting bed-sheets and writhes needily, quietly, prettily.

_"Who can tell me what a poetic device is?" Michaelis smiles his wide, all-too-familiar grin, voice rumbling deep, deep, deep, eyes scanning the room uselessly. He ignores how quick Ciel's hand springs up like a damn chipmunk, and tries at having faith in the rest of his idle students. Having the same kid answer over and over again isn't ideal to the teacher — in fact, he rather hates it — but he figures he hasn't much of a choice when Ciel whines low in his throat, fingers wiggling in the air in an attempt to get his attention._

_The man exhales in defeat before dropping his eyes to meet the kid's, clashing with bubbly enthusiasm. Michaelis is a sucker for that singular, pretty blue, and Ciel's cheeks want to draw back to give a grateful smile when he nods his head, egging Ciel on. A final "Yes, Phantomhive?" promises word vomit from the gray-haired boy, and it comes spilling before he can help it._

_"A poetic device is a tool poets can use to provide their pieces with rhythm and effect, and they basically seal-the-deal and make the whole poem exactly what it is; whether it'd be effective, touching, tear-jerking, or comedic — it all depends on what device is used, and how it is used."_

_Michaelis is impressed._

_"Good boy."_

Ciel remembers when he first heard those words uttered from Michaelis' sculpted lips like it was yesterday. Unforgettable, it was the first time in two weeks and four days of being Sebastian Michaelis' legal student that Ciel Phantomhive heard the two words _good boy_ come spilling from Sir's perfect, sculpted lips, aimed at _him_ and _only_ him. That in itself, uttered from his Mister's lips in deliciously deep praise makes Ciel wonder how the hell he didn't cream himself right then and there. He wasn't shown mercy, though. Nasty thoughts, red-as-cherry cheeks, an inconvenient boner and permanent sweat building on his forehead plagued him for the rest of the day. _Good boy._

He chokes on another strangled whimper.

Michaelis is perfect in every way. It's not an exaggeration. From his God-chiseled jaw, to his too-fluttery, too-thick lashes, to his broad, broad shoulders, to his humbling grin and smiley-eyes — Michaelis is utterly _flawless_. Ciel quivers against his bed-sheets when he ickies up the fine fabric even more than he already has, clear fluid spilling generously from his cock. It's a problem he'll worry about later. Michaelis overwhelms his worries with bliss and happy thoughts.

His hips buck down against yucky fabric. Ciel clenches his fists tight as he feels himself verging his first and last climax of the night, pelvis jittering uncontrollable, skin rubbed raw and painful and _good_. Whimpers spill from his bitten lips.

"Hhnnn, G-god, fi-fin-ah-lly, fiinally, _fin-ah-ll-ghnn_..!!"

Nuzzling his face into his pillow and biting down as hard as his little white teeth can manage, nearly tearing through high-quality pillow-casing and ruining high-quality pillow-fluff is all that saves him from screaming a high, too-proud, too-needless _Michaelis!!_

It's embarrassing how quickly Ciel passes out right after, too. Too careless, exhausted from whatever-the-hell, he knocks out with cum drying on his thighs, his sheets, his dick. Pajama-shorts binding his calves together, blankets rustled and exposing half his cool-to-the-touch legs.

The thought isn't apparent to Ciel — sleeping is blissful (though sleeping with _cum drying_ on your thighs isn't), Michaelis fabricating into his dreams is blissful, and for the first time in two weeks of beating off to his teacher's face, teacher's voice — Ciel thinks facing him might be a _little_ easier tomorrow.

* * *

 

Ciel's handwriting is pretty.  It's almost always mistaken for a girl's, with the way he loops his L's, his Y's, how he doodles teeny tiny hearts wherever he can instinctively — it's girly, it's curled, and Ciel wants to crumple his sheet to nothing but dust when Michaelis paces past him, eyes scanning his page and brow cocking vaguely. _C.P._ etched out messily in curly, girly letters is all Michaelis catches in one look, and Ciel feels his gut jump up his throat.

Looping S's and curving M's quickly occupies the boy's hand when he etches out hasty initials — _S.M._ — right under his own _C.P,_ a shameful little plus sign filling up the space between curly, girly letters, and Ciel _hates_ how he flushes all bashful and ugly at a set of _initials_ . Maybe Ciel's the Ugly Becky who aimlessly lusts after someone _way_ out her league, doodles initials in big, pink-inked block letters, and ultimately gets her heart broken by some _cool-guy_ in the movies.  He doesn't mean to finish off the embarrassment of lined paper, staring him down, with a big, fat, cheesy heart around his and his Mister's initials. Ciel doesn't mean to doodle little hearts and littler daises in the corner, either. He wants to cut his hand off.

Regret replaces bashful, ooey-gooey butterflies when Michaelis approaches his desk, and the urge to cut his hand off surges when it tears that page out right his blue spiral notebook, crumples it with clenched fingers and shoves it into his empty desk. Michaelis is either highly amused or highly suspicious, and Ciel feels his gut wrench as much as his dick.

"You... kids doing alright?"

Suspicious is the one, and Michaelis raises his brows, huffing a little breath as he stops at Ciel's line of desks. Liza — formerly known as _Blonde #1_ — instantly perks her big head up, snaps her bigger eyes wide open and offers a too-sultry-for-her-age coquettish grin to Michaelis. Michaelis looks like he flinches.

"Mmmhm," She slides her elbows down the desk, cradling her cheap-foundation-tacked face in her french-manicured hands, "we're doing _juust_ fine, Mr. Michaelis."

The teacher scratches the back of his neck instinctively. Watching Michaelis' face and mannerisms and his _everything_ for two weeks and two days means Ciel knows this means he's uncomfortable. He twiddles his thumb before clearing his throat.

"Great.. erm.. and you, Phantomhive?"

"I-I'm doing _just_ fine, Sir." Ciel answers too quick, words flying out his mouth quicker than he can manage, and Ciel swears his heart nearly leaps out his throat.

"..You wanna tell me about that note you just crumpled up?"

Michaelis is playing with him. Ciel's convinced. He definitely _knows_ now, Ciel's slipped up, Ciel promises to drop out and never show his face again, he's a disgrace to his family —

"No, Sir. It wasn't anything important. Don't worry about it."

The boy waits for Michaelis to start laughing at him, or something; waits for him to point a big finger at him and throw his head back to cackle, because _what a stupid kid. you're crushing on me? your teacher, of aallll people? out of my fucking classroom._

Michaelis shrugs, exhaling air through his nose and he musters a careless chuckle under his breath, fingers clasped and twiddling.

"..Right. Oh yeah, also — can you see me at lunch hour? I'd like to talk to just you, one-on-one. 's nothing big."

_One-on-one._

_I'd like to talk to just you._

_Just you._

Ciel swallows a choked yelp. Liza's eyes widen and her teeth dig into magenta-slathered lips. Alois — formerly known as _Blonde #2_ — giggles under his breath and stares searing holes into Ciel's blushing face while Blonde #3 (Ciel still hasn't a _clue_ who they are) glares down at their page aimlessly, cheeks burning nearly as hot as Ciel's.

Alois pinches him under his desk.

"Y-yeah, of course. It won't take the whole period, will it?"

"No, I don't think so." Michaelis smiles all big and warm before stalking away, and Ciel thinks it's too early for this when his chest swells painfully. Alois and Liza glare at him with this _look_ , and the boy squirms uncomfortable.

"Wh-what-"

Liza's first to cut him off with a disbelieving cackle, bimbo eyes all wide and gum popping before she smacks out 5 words that make Ciel flush — _"Phantomhive_ , you _lucky_ fucking bastard."

"I- what in the _fuck_ do you have to do to get _him_ wanting to speak to _you_ in _private?!"_ Alois chimes in second.

"Tell me how big his dick is-"

"No, me first!-"

"Guys- _What?!_ Al-Alois, I don't-"

"Come _on,_ Ciel. Why else would he call you into his classroom, for a _one-on-one conversation?"_

Ciel's never been more thankful for the distance between him in Michaelis when the two blue-eyed blondes start running their mouths, gushing about _ugh, his hands are so big — and so are his feet_ — they pause to giggle — _you know what that means!_

The boy groans for what feels like the hundredth time today, and buries his face into his elbow.

Liza scoffs.

"Come _onn_ , don't act like you haven't _thought_ about it!" She smacks, giggling grossly when she jabs Ciel's ribs. _I've done more than just thinking, you fucking twit_ nearly slips out glossed lips in form of a jeer, but he bites his tongue instead. "I won't _judge_ you for it. Nothin' wrong with being a little fruity. Mr. Michaelis _is_ pretty fuckin' hot."

"As _if_ he isn't repping enough. Ciel, you're like, not straight — right?"

"Alois, could you please fuck off for a _quick_ minute so I can finish my work like a good student?" It's all Ciel can manage, really, with the two blondes ogling at him with their stupid faces, waiting for him to break, spill his guts. He can feel their ugly eyes boring into his soul, and it takes 3 minutes and 5 seconds of Ciel pretending to do his worksheet that he shamefully lifts his head up to catch Alois' glare, matching it in a foul scowl.

"What do you want from me?"

"..Nothing..."

"..."

Ciel drones back to his mostly empty worksheet, squinting his eye at the finely printed text in the top left corner, trying to ignore two heated glares burning holes into his pink button-up.

"..."

"Okay, maybe I _do_ want something." Alois musters enough courage to blurt after 10 painful seconds, and Ciel groans for what feels like the hundred-and-first-time today. Calmly places his black pen down on his page and offers an irritated smile. The blond flinches a little. Liza giggles. "Just spit it out, you weirdo."

"Can I come with you at lunch hour? Please?" The boy figures he shouldn't expect better, at this point — contemplating how much _horny_ Alois can store in his meager body is an often occurrence, and Ciel's big blue eye's already rolling to the back of his head by the time Alois hurriedly spills out his plea. A glare is what faces the annoying blond next when he tries at giving Ciel useless, ineffective puppy eyes.

"N-no. Bug off. He.. said he just wants to talk to _me_ . J-just me. It's not that serious." The doe-eyed boy's face immediately loses all its annoying desperation and what creeps onto his face might be worse, Ciel thinks; Alois is _onto_ him. He gives a too-wide, almost _knowing_ smirk and plants his chin in his sweaty palms. Clicks his tongue once, scans Ciel's face eerily. Kid gulps and furrows a skinny brow before flushing obnoxiously when Alois drawls out a _yoouu have a crush on him, don't you._

What Ciel hates even _more_ is that it's not a question — it's a statement, and he's not wrong.

"No! Of course not. D-don't make such stupid assumptions."

Alois doesn't get that stupid, shit-eating grin off his face, and Ciel's hands suddenly want to wrap around his throat.

"...Fuck off."

"You _do!_ Fuckin— I _told_ you he did! Where's my 5 bucks, bitch?" Alois cackles way too loud and snaps a finger at Liza. Ciel digs his fingernails into his palms and giggles in disbelief, question of _what the fuck?_ lingering on his tongue.

"You two were _betting_ on this?"

"We're not blind, dumbass. You're so oobbvviioouusss! But 's okay. Now that I know we all wanna fuck him-"

"Would you shut up?!"

"Oh, come _on_ , Ciel. Don't act like you've never _thought_ about it. The things I'd do to that man, the _felony_ I'd let him catch-"

"ALOIS." Liza's shit at hiding her guffaws behind her manicured hand, and Ciel thinks he could be mistaken for a fucking _tomato_ at this point. "Th-the _both_ of you, I can't fucking belie- You know what, whatever."

Huffing in an attempt to seem unaffected (he wants to rip out his heart for how fast it beats — it's the only thing he can hear), the boy scoffs childish, shakily wrapping fingers back around his pen and struggling to process what's on the page. The searing gazes burning holes into his head don't really help, either, and Michaelis poking his head up in confusion confirms that yes, Ciel _does_ want to die, and this is the end of his life.

"You-you guys are di-dipshits." The sound of pen scratching messily against thin paper soothes Ciel into calming down, stops him from shaking like mad, and all is well for 5 minutes til the bell rings, loud, blaring, and Ciel thinks he nearly bites his tongue off.

He doesn't think he's ever hurried out Michaelis' classroom faster than he has today, little feet shuffling quicker-than-ever, steadily tracked by a neglected, whiny Alois.

* * *

Chemistry is extra hard to focus on when one's mind is clouded, occupied by _someone_ or _something_ . Ciel's eye's glazed over in thought, and it takes Alois snapping his fingers all up in his face to get the boy to snap out of _whatever_ , whisper-yelled _oi, are you fucking dead? wakey-wakey!_ knocking Ciel out of an all-too-happy daydream. Alois gives this dirty look, and suddenly Ciel's back in reality, blinking once, twice, and wrinkling his nose.

"Don't do that."

The blond scoffs.

"Can you at least _pretend_ to pay attention?"

_I'd like to talk to just you. One-on-one._

_Just you._

_I'd like_

_You._

Ciel gulps, swears to make no promises, and utters out a hushed, ashamed "...I'll try my best to."

-

Bad idea. Was this a bad idea? Sebastian can't tell at this point, but his hands shake for no reason, his voice stutters in uncomfortable chuckles, and he's 5 minutes away from wobbling out his classroom in embarrassment, hopes of Phantomhive ignoring his room due to the lack of presence, or Phantomhive forgetting all together.

Either way, he instinctively straightens up as soon as he hears footsteps padding near his door, and he hears someone knock once, twice, thrice before he's made to mumble a quiet string of curses, sauntering to the metal door and opening it slowly, coolly. To his dismay, Phantomhive _hasn't_ forgotten, and it's 11:00 on the _dot_ when Phantomhive beams at him, a wide smile riddling his glossy lips, and yup, Sebastian's sure, this was a _horrible_ idea when his chest flares uncomfortably.

Phantomhive's first to speak first, an uncomfortable 5 seconds of silence before he parts his horribly glossy, plushy lips to speak 5 words that should _not_ make _grown-up_ thoughts stir in the teacher's brain,"Hello, Sir. You wanted me?"

_You wanted me?_

Sebastian has to bite his tongue on _that_ one.

"Ah, yes — please, come in."

Phantomhive bows his head respectfully as he walks into Sebastian's cold classroom, shoulders pricking up instinctively as cool air dives into the cut-off sleeves of his raspberry button-up. Sebastian curses himself for no reason, and calmly stalks to his desk, unspoken order of _follow me_ lingering in the cool air. The walk to his desk feels longer than ever, and maybe it's just him — but _shit,_ Sebastian can hardly hear anything aside his huffed breath and the obnoxiously loud _step, step, step_ of his dress shoes clacking against the floor, Phantomhive's tiny _pitter-patter_ s getting dwarfed with ease. It feels like ages when he finally meets his long, dark, mahogany desk, and he turns around leisurely, calmly, leaning his bottom against the edge and gesturing to a shitty plastic chair for Phantomhive to seat his rich ass on.

"I just wanted to check in with you, is all. Has.. anything happened at home?"

 _Where is he going with this?_ , one might think, but Sebastian hasn't a fucking _clue_ what his mouth runs of, and words improvise through his clenched teeth faster than he can say _this was a fuuucking mistake—_

Sebastian smiles, pearly-whites gleaming humble (he doesn't know _why_ he's smiling, whether it'd be to soothe himself or soothe the kid — he figures he scores when Phantomhive's shoulders drop, long legs easing down to sit on shitty plastic), and he furrows his brows in concern. Pushes his glasses up his nose."Y-yeah, everything's fine, Sir. Why?"

"..It's still Mister," Phantomhive cracks a grin. "but it's just that I've noticed that you've been.. slacking off a little." Sebastian silently applauds himself for bullshitting believably, "You've barely finished up your work in class today, 's been going on for a bit over a week, and I've gotten a little concerned, Ciel."

 _Ciel_ tastes like sugar, and it feels like silk when it rolls off his tongue. Sebastian wants to memorize the way Phantomhive freezes up the second his first name leaves his mouth, wrapped in a big, fat ribbon, and the teacher thinks this is the first time in a week and four days he's referred to Phantomhive by Ciel. He thinks he'll have to use it more. _Ciel._

"I just wanted to check in with you, bud," Do people even _call_ people bud anymore? Sebastian doesn't know, but it's the first thing that slips his mouth convincing, "and you know, you're one of my _best_ students, too, 'n I just wanna make sure all is good." Another weirdly humble, not-at-all forced smile plasters itself across Sebastian's face. Phantomhive takes a deep breath, cheeks reddening quick, and Sebastian hates how the first thing his eyes linger to is the kid's pale neck to see if that splotchy rosy blush'll spread there, too. He tries to ignore how the kid presses his thighs together, tiny hands bunching rose-tinted fabric over his groin, and he ignores how kid gnaws down on his lip. Sebastian gulps.

"Mmm, I'm fine, Mister. I've just.." Phantomhive crosses his ankles and tilts his head subconsciously. It's stupidly endearing. Sebastian wants to slap himself. "I've had a l-lot on my mind lately. 'm sorry, Mister. I-I'll try not to disappoint further on."

"You haven't disappointed me, Ciel." Again. Phantomhive's gaze drops to Sebastian's dress-shoes. "D'ya wanna talk about it-"

 _"No!_ I m-mean," The boy flushes even deeper (Sebastian's not sure how it's even possible at this point — Phantomhive's cheeks nearly blend in with his shirt), murmurs a quiet apology and exhales once, "I just.. it's nothing, Sir. Promise." He keeps his lips parted, though; Sebastian can practically feel the word-vomit lingering behind his teeth. His mouth runs faster than he can dismiss the boy, and it's another fit of Sebastian Michaelis wishing he could staple his mouth shut.

"C'mon, kid. 's okay. I'm a _cool_ teacher. Do you have a crush, or somethin'?" He drums his fingertips atop dark mahogany, and stifles a pitiful giggle at Phantomhive jolting in his seat, pretty blue eye wider than a saucer, and tiny little hands drawn into angry fists. Sebastian's heart thumps too loud in his chest. It's stupid, it's ugly, and Sebastian wishes someone was there to slap the shit out of him, if not himself. "Unless you don't have a crush, or maybe you jus' don't wanna talk about it. Just want you to know you can talk to me."

"Either way is fine by me."

It takes roughly 30 seconds of horribly painful, thicker-than-ever silence that Phantomhive clears his throat finally, blush fading off his pale cheeks when he takes an audibly shaky breath. Cards his bangs out his line of vision, and tucks his hands underneath his plushy thighs. "..N-no, you're right, Mister. I... I do have a crush."

_You're right, Mister._

_I do have a crush._

_You._

_Crush._

"Oh, _do_ you, now?" The wide smirk on Sebastian's face is subconscious, and he doesn't realize it til his cheeks start straining painfully. Phantomhive smiles all bashful. Sebastian wants to rip his heart out. _"Mhmm._ I doubt I have a chance with 'em, though."

Sebastian tucks his tongue behind his teeth and huffs out a breathless chuckle, and he doesn't believe it for a single second; for how could _anybody_ resist this cute little thing, squirming in his seat and chewing on his bubblegum pink lips (the man condemns himself for nearly _not_ resisting)? Sebastian's nails bite deep into his palm. "I don't know about that, Ciel." Is he crossing the line? Sebastian doesn't know, but he doesn't think he gives a shit, either.

"Why don't you tell me a little more about this _person?_ Maybe it'll help clear your mind a little, hmm?" Sebastian crosses his arms and tilts his head up. Glares down at the beet-red boy with fondness. The way Phantomhive cranes his neck forward when he grasps the nape, rubbing gentle and giggling shy has Sebastian forces curses down his throat, locking them behind clenched teeth and hollow morality. "S-sure, I guess it wouldn't _hurt.."_

Yes, it would, Sebastian thinks, but the kid doesn't need to know that.

 _"..He's_ a _lot_ older than me. 'n I think he's really c-cool," Phantomhive's voice dips high, quiet, shy, "he's real smart, too. I don' have a chance with him, though. I _know_ I don't. It's pointless to even try, bu' I jus' can't help it."

"So he's an upperclassman, yeah?" Phantomhive laughs right in his face, mumbles something along the lines of _oh, you have no idea._

"Why do you think that, Ciel?"

"Be-because he's already got someone.. 'n it's a _girl._ 'm not a _girl._ He only likes _girls."_

The kid gets all choked up, and the next 5 words that spill from his glossy bubblegum lips make Sebastian's eyebrows meet his hairline; "I th-think I _love_ him."

Sebastian thinks he can see tears filling up that big blue eye. Spurting down his cheeks. Playful, _cool-teacher_ mode withers down to _oh-shit-is-he-okay?_ mode, and Sebastian makes sure he's as calm as possible when he leans off his desk, not-at-all shaky when he approaches Phantomhive and kneels to match his height.

Fuck. Phantomhive shouldn't be this pretty. His black lashes are thicker than Sebastian expects, laced with watery tears that make 'em glisten. Sebastian bites on a curse.

"Hey, hey, hey—" The kid's shoulders curl in on themselves. Sebastian feels like shit. "—take it easy, kid, 's okay. We don't have to talk about him anymore, 's okay."

"'m _right_ here."

Sebastian doesn't remember when exactly he took the kid's hands into his own, but they're there, curled up in his palms, and Phantomhive's little chest wracks with a heartbreaking sob. He doesn't notice when his thumb starts rubbing soothing circles into Phantomhive's baby-soft wrists either, but it happens, and Phantomhive keeps his gaze lowered.

Sebastian doesn't know what to say, other than a pathetic, half-convincing "I'm sorry for bringin' him up."

Phantomhive shakes his head.

"'s okay, Sir. N-not like you knew I was gonna cry like a little— _a little-"_ Kid cuts himself off to wriggle cold little fingers from Sebastian's soothing grasp, and he wipes his eye with the back of his wrist. "'s fine. I'm kinda glad I got th-that off my chest, actually."

"I like talkin' to you, Mister." Phantomhive coos quietly, shuffling his feet shy.

_I like_

_You._

"'Course, Ciel. It's only my _job."_ Sebastian snickers, hands flying back behind his back faster than he gets back on two feet. He gulps. Why is he flustered? Phantomhive doesn't notice.

"Please, if you ever want to talk about anything— 'nd I mean _anything_ — don't hesitate to meet me here." Sebastian checks the time. It's been 36 minutes since Ciel's stepped foot into his classroom, and it's all stupid to Sebastian.

But it's okay, because the kid giggles, straightening out his now-wrinkled dress-shirt and looking up at Sebastian's cherry-brown eyes with a big, fat, gleeful smile.

"I definitely will, Sir! Thank you!"

_I like talkin' to you, Mister._

_Thank you!_

_I do have a crush._

_Older than me._

_He has someone already._

_You._

_I like_

_you, Mister._

It's impossible. Right?

Sebastian's mind is more conflicted and filled to the brim than he'd like to admit, and Phantomhive happily skipping out his classroom, stopping by the metal door to offer one last _I'll definitely come if I need to!_ doesn't help a _single_ bit.

Sebastian sighs, planting his face in his hands. He can't tell if this was a massive mistake or not, but something twitching deep in his gut tells him it's the former.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wwwoooOOOOOOOOOOOO SORRY FOR THE DELAY Y'ALL!!!!! i rewrote this shit like three times and now i'm finally satisfied with it after spilling blood, sweat, and tears for hours upon hours on end LMAO.
> 
> please leave me a kudos + a comment!! lemme know what you think of this chapter!!


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rev·e·la·tion  
>  _revəˈlāSH(ə)n/_  
>  noun  
> a surprising and previously unknown fact, especially one that is made known in a dramatic way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a wet dream + dubcon somnophilia in the first 2k words

"The truth is — you're right, Sir. I _have_ had something bothering me; a _problem,_ if you will."

Phantomhive crosses his legs, a sigh heaving from his chest like it hurts.

Sebastian gulps.

He doesn't remember the kid's skirt being _that_ short. Nor his dress-shirt _that_ transparent, nor his gaze _that_ icy. Sebastian thinks if he looks hard enough, he can see Phantomhive's pink nipples straining through the thin white fabric. Phantomhive stands.

"I like you, Mister." _Click. Clack. Click. Clack._ Sebastian gulps again. It's all he can hear, really; the _clicking_ and _clacking_ of Phantomhive's squeaky-clean oxfords against squeaky-clean vinyl tiles as the boy makes his way around Sebastian's too-long workbench, fingers dancing over worksheets and desk knickknacks. The kid giggles high and careless. It's embarrasing — Sebastian swears he doesn't _mean_ to flush.

"I like you a _lot."_

Too close.

Now Phantomhive's too close.

Sebastian doesn't remember when his chair was spun to face the kid, but Phantomhive's there, tiny little fingers running down Sebastian's chest and soft locks of baby grey tickling his cheeks, seductively curling around his jaw, tiny little body suddenly pressing flush against his, and now he can feel Phantomhive quivering nervous. Bony hips buckling tight against his abdomen, an undeniable bulge grinding raw against Sebastian's waistband. Sebastian's throat goes dry. Phantomhive _whimpers._

"D-do you wanna know-do you wanna know what my problem is, Mister?" The boy whispers shakily. He smells like strawberries and sugar this time around. Sebastian thinks he likes peaches and cream better, but Phantomhive's fingers wrapping tight around his shoulders tell him to deal with it, baby's pouting, strawberry, gloss-slick lips whispering a quivered _'s y-you_ deciding that maybe strawberries and sugar are okay this time around.

"My pr-problem is _you,_ Sir," The kid's voice is shakier than Sebastian thinks he's ever heard.

Sebastian swallows around the lump in his throat. It takes him more than a second to clear his mind (of gloss-slicked lips and pretty boy thighs) to look up at Phantomhive's wide, pretty, daunting blue, ill-intent hiding behind innocent, blush-pinched cheeks and a cracking, nervous voice that Sebastian swears he won't give in (though Phantomhive's plushy thighs beg to differ, and it's soon that the teacher realizes that it's not a fight he's won this time around).

Sebastian swallows around the lump in his throat.

"Please, Ciel, get off my lap-"

 _"No!_ " The little thing cries, bitten pink lips quivering.

 _"No..._ th-this," Tiny, grabby, manicured fingers find themselves tangled in Sebastian's locks of black, _"this_ is all your fault, Mister—" the boy rolls his hips, nice and stark against Sebastian's thighs, and shit, fuck, Sebastian bites his tongue, Phantomhive's _commando,_ Phantomhive's gone fucking _commando,_ quick realization slaps him as Phantomhive rolls his skirt up to reveal his little purple-headed cock, pressed flush against the alabaster of his abdomen. Sebastian feels himself throb painfully.

"I w-want you to see what you've done to me..!" He whines, hands shaky, voice breaking, and Sebastian doesn't think he's hated himself more than he does right now when his eyes lock down on watching the kid's dickhead spurt generous and glint delicious, clear fluid gathering thick on sensitive skin, and Sebastian shakes his head. Phantomhive squirms cute. His hands somehow find their way around Phantomhive's baby-soft thighs, and Sebastian doesn't notice til those plump, sickeningly sweet, laced-with-berry lips utter out a sobbed _pl-please touch me._

Sebastian gulps.

"I did _this_ to you, you say," Sebastian's fingers trickle up Phantomhive's thigh, toying with the hem of his pleated navy skirt and catching the fabric between two fingers before lifting, "what's _this,_ hm? Explain to me, Ciel, what have I _done_ to you?"

A hand slips under baby's pleated navy skirt, and now Sebastian's smiling. He brings his lips to Phantomhive's pink-blushed ear to murmur words laced with sugar-coated bad intent, fingers groping tight around the boy's warm, slick-to-the-touch arousal.

"I'm not quite sure I understand."

Divine. The kid quivers, young thighs spreading wide and little cock swelling hot against Sebastian's palm.

"Y-you," Phantomhive's fingers dig into his shoulder blades, painful as a kitten's bite, "you've _ruined_ me, Sir." _Pant. Pant._ Sebastian squeezes lightly. "Ev-ever since I've met you, I've-I've _changed_." A delicious, sweet keen. Sebastian practically smells the honey, begging to lapped, drooling from his lips.

"Ch-changed in a way I didn't ex-expect to."

"Tell me more, angel," Sebastian slides his fist down, and then up; the boy jitters, sensitive and gushing and blushing. Phantomhive swallows like his tongue's too big for his mouth. "How have I changed you, huh?" _Stroke. Stroke._ Kid looks up at Sebastian with the prettiest, glassy baby-blue he's ever seen, glossy and tearful as he gnaws down on his glossier lips, and Phantomhive’s bony little hips buck up into his hand. He whines sweet and quiet. Sebastian's gonna lose it.

"You.. you make me have th-these _thoughts,_ Sir," Phantomhive brings his pretty pout all up close and personal, quivering pink ghosting the shell of Sebastian's ear, and he starts whispering, "you make me have these _naughty_ thoughts... thoughts of you and I—"

Phantomhive's breath shakes like hell. He gulps.

"—thoughts you and I d-doing _grown-up_ things."

_Fuck._

"You're gonna be the damn death of me."

"As will you be mine, Sir," The boy's skin is soft, Sebastian begins to appreciate. Much softer than Ana's. Feels like fresh silk curling plush against his fingertips, flushed a yummy raspberry, and Sebastian pulls his hand off that just-as-red cock to hear a horrible, amazing, _badwrong_ moan choke from Phantomhive's throat. He reminds Sebastian of a neglected puppy when he draws his brows together, baby-blue eye tearing up and tiny pelvis bucking up instinctive against Sebastian's soon-to-be-tarnished button-up, wanton and begging for more in teeny tiny thrusts.

"M-more.. Sir, I need _more,_ please don't leave me like this, _please,"_ Phantomhive cries, mucus-slick throat sending out his pleas all blubbery, "please, _pl-"_

"Hush, boy. 'm gonna take _real_ good care of you," Sebastian rumbles nice and deep. Disgusting. "'m gonna make you feel good, okay? Lemme see you take that skirt off, sugar. Take your shirt off, too." he presses the pads of his thumbs into the pretty thing's bony, milky-white hipbones, eliciting honeyed whimpers gritted tough through pearly-whites, and Sebastian tuts. "Nuh-uh, none of that, either—" another disgusting rumble, drawing cocky from his lips, "—I wanna _hear_ you." _Slap._ Phantomhive jitters deliciously. Writhes needy against the palm sending little spanks upon his taintless, virgin little-boy bum, and Sebastian curses silently. Phantomhive nods his head pretty.

"An-anythin' for _you,_ Mister," kid's legs are wobbly as he rises from his teacher's lap, face flushed dark and lips gnawed raw — looking him in the eye seems a lot harder than it did 5 seconds ago, _especially_ as he drops that not-so-boring skirt to the floor and works on the first three buttons of his dress-shirt, "anythin' at _all."_

It's evident how quiet the room is when Sebastian listens to white fabric hitting to the floor in a light, nearly pin-droppingly silent _thud_ as Phantomhive discards it carelessly, dainty little fingers pulling loose around expensive material, and _Christ,_ if Sebastian wasn't fucked then, he's _more_ than fucked now as his eyes drink up the sight of that boy's sheepish, ignorant innocence, his blush-pinched cheeks glowing, tiny fists clenched white, and _now_ Sebastian has to suppress a loud groan because _there_ he _is._

A beauty to the eye, nude aside from his white thigh-highs and black oxfords stands a nervous, shuffling-his-feet Phantomhive, pretty cock curved up to his skinny little stomach, fingers pulled into fists, and blue gaze lowered shy, modest. Blushed red blooms all over.

 _"Good_ boy." Sebastian beckons Phantomhive with a curled finger.

His knees wobble like jelly as he tentatively steps forward.

"What do you want me to _do_ to you, angel?" Phantomhive's tiny, manicured little fingers slide back onto Sebastian's chest as the blushing boy daintily seats himself back where he belongs, cute thighs spread deliciously wide and arousal pressed flush between him and his Mister, "Wanna hear you _tell_ me." Phantomhive trails a hand back down to grasp at his sweet, sugar-coated pinkness, his big eye saucer-wide when he looks up all-too-innocent for a boy seated buck-ass _naked_ in his teacher's lap, licking his lips like he doesn't know what the _hell_ he's doing to Sebastian, and Sebastian chuckles painfully. Feels it swell in his chest.

Phantomhive cracks a timid smile.

"Want you to touch me.. touch me _he-here.._ 'nd I'll touch you there, too!" kid's other hand drags one of Sebastian's down to meet his other, "'s only fair that way, isn't it, Sir?"

_I suppose._

I wanna go first, Sir

I’ve been waiting to get that cock of yours down my throat for _ages._

Would you prefer my tongue or my hand?

A sly, impish grin

Disgusting moans,

You're so _big,_ Mister. I don't think I'll be able to fit all of you in.. in..

_Hush up, boy, you're driving me fucking mad_

Am

I?

_Wider._

Maybe if you're lucky I'll let you use my virgin little ass.

How tight d'ya think I am, Sir? How badly do you wanna jus' take me righ' here, righ' now?

Mmm, you taste so _yummy,_ Mister—

Phantomhive laps slobbery, sopping wet and debaucherous,

_Just like that, angel_

Sebastian's hands grab into softness

_Yes_

_Mm, you're amazing_

Lick. Pant. Lick. _Moan._

_Yes_

Gag.

_I'm_

Phantomhive dims blue

_so close,_

Sebastian calls

and

_"Mmhh... hnng..!"_

"Wha... _wh-what's-"_ Sebastian twitches, wondering why the _hell_ it's so hard to sit up, a dainty hand shoving his chest down and —

"Hey, hey, _hey,"_ the hand around his cock tightens, _"easy,_ tiger."

It's Ana's voice, rumbling low and dirty.

Sebastian blinks once, twice.

_Ana._

"What are you.. doin.. _ghnn.._ a-are you-"

"Hah, you were makin' all _sorts_ of noises," she chuckles, bringing her fist down, "you can't _blame_ me, can you?"

Sebastian can't tell if it's _just-get-me-off_ or _just-get-off-me_ that wrenches in his gut as she stares down at him like he's supposed to be _enjoying_ it, or something, but either way—he stutters on ambiguous moans, hips bucking up into her  fist instinctively.

"Tell me, what were you dreaming of?' Ana's smirking, too smug for Sebastian's liking, "Or more like _who."_ another chuckle. Sebastian's chest flares in annoyance. "'m a _curious_ girl."

"N-none of your busin- _mm,"_

"You were _so_ close, weren't you? Lemme finish you off, baby." her fingers wrapped tight around his cock start to feel a _lot_ better, and Sebastian lets his head fall back into pillow fluff. "Just relax, 'kay? I got you."

Phantomhive's the kind of kid that makes one think of velcro shoes and colouring books. The type of kid to chase after ice-cream trucks, the type of kid that eats the cherry first-thing when he gets his banana-split.

_"Mmmh—An..na,"_

"Right here, 'bastian," she pumps her fist, other hand rubbing circles on his chest, "do I make you feel _good?"_

Phantomhive's the last thing that should be occupying his mind, his wet-dreams, his _wank-bank_ , and guilt starts eating Sebastian up—starting at his toes, finishing up at his head. Phantomhive sure as _hell_ shouldn't be a lingering thought as Sebastian's _wife_ beats him off, Sebastian reminiscing in that kid's perfect lips, his pert rump, and his _deliciously_ flushed, pink-headed, young and gushing cock.

"Nnn!"

The second Sebastian lets his eyes drop shut, it's not Ana's hand wrapped around his cock anymore—it's Phantomhive's hot little _mouth_ , and Sebastian bites down curses.

_Like thish, Mishter? Am I doin' okay?_

"You're—you're _perfect,"_

_'Fank you, Shir._

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

 _"Hahaha—_ that good, am I?" It's Ana's voice again, and Sebastian snaps his eyes back open.

_Did I just—?_

"Y-yeah."

It's Ana's thighs straddling his own, Sebastian remembers. Not Phantomhive's. And it's Ana's hand—not Phantomhive's _mouth._

Sebastian sighs shakily and lets himself fall apart beneath Ana's palms.

Nothing feels right on this Saturday morning, and Sebastian wishes the sunshine bleeding through his curtains could swallow him whole.

* * *

"How's your coffee, babe?"

"It's... good. Thank you."

Sebastian's lying. It's doused in sugar and splashed with milk, coating his tongue in sickly-sweetness as the dairy mucks up his throat. Sebastian stifles a grimace with every gulp (hell, Sebastian never _gulps_ his coffee, either. He takes leisure little sips, and the Joe this morning makes him wish it could go down quicker) he takes.

"I was thinking that maybe.. today we could go out," Ana slides her hand across shitty hardwood, clasping it over Sebastian's, "y'know—maybe go to dinner, shopping.. anything, really."

Her voice is just as sweet as Sebastian's coffee, and it sickens him to the core. Sebastian can't tell if that smile is feigned either, but the creases that her eyes give tell Sebastian she's being _genuine_ (and maybe Sebastian wishes she wasn’t).

"It's been a while. I miss you."

Sebastian chuckles bitterly.

"Wonder where this _energy_ was a couple-"

"Oi. I just gave you a handjob. C'mon."

It’s a joke. He’s supposed to laugh, but all that tumbles from his lips is a half-hearted _hah,_ sounding more like a huffed scoff than a genuine (whatever the hell _that_ means, anymore) chuckle. Ana knits her brows together, lower lip jutted out like a neglected pup, and all Sebastian sees in her big, wide eyes is _Phantomhive._

“Mm. Sure. Where do you wanna go, then?

Ana’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“I was thinkin’... maybe you could take me to _my_ outlet, ‘n then I can get you a big, fat, juicy steak from Outback in return for bein’ a good hubby and putting up with my shit?”

_“Outlet...”_

_“The_ Outlet. I swear, I won’t even take that long! I just wanna check Sephora, maybe go into Kate Spade, browse by _Guess—”_

“Shh, it’s fine,” Sebastian cuts her off with a breathy chuckle, “as long as I get my steak, you can do _whatever_ you want.”

It’s fake.

Everything _feels_ fake.

Everything that’s left his mouth thus far feels fake, the smile plastered across his face feels fake, the shitty hardwood table he drums his fingertips upon feels fake, and Sebastian’s just about ready to dive head-first into a hole in the ground and pray it closes around him.

“I’m _soorrryy!_ Here, I’ll like _—I dunno—_ I’ll try not to take _too_ much time,” Ana giggles, stabbing the yolk of her fried egg with needless aggression, “but I can’t say that I won’t... y’know.. get a little _lost.”_

Sebastian shakes his head.

Ana giggles again, and Sebastian thinks it’s the second-most annoying thing he’s heard this Saturday morning.

 _“Pfft_ , don’t give me that _look,_ Sebastian! I’ll try my best. _Promise.”_

* * *

This was a mistake.

A _big_ mistake.

“Sebastiaaan, which colour d’ya think goes better with my _skin?”_

What the fuck kind of question was _that?_

“Uh—I don’t.. _know?_ Ana, they look the _exact_ same.”

Ana scrunches her face up, waving the back of her hand in front of Sebastian’s eyes like bringing the swatched colours any closer makes a difference. Two stripes of muted, dusty red lipstick coat the surface of Ana’s hand, and Sebastian grabs her wrist to inspect closer.

“No, stupid, _look._ This one has a very faint _purple_ undertone, while _this_ one’s _orange-based!”_  Sebastian squints painfully.

“...Ana, they still look the _exact_ same.”

“Tch,” she rolls her eyes, swatting Sebastian’s hand away, “have you never heard of _colour theory?_ Y’know, the theory about... colours, and shit?”

“...”

Ana rubs her temples.

_“JusttellmewhatlipstickyoulikebettersoIcancashoutfasterandstopembarrassingmysel-”_

“You have.. like.. a warm—a _yellow_ undertone, don’t you?” Sebastian tries, remembering one of her foundations (is _that_ what they’re called?) being labelled with _NC-35,_ Ana quickly lecturing him on the Mac Basics; _just remember it like this, Sebastian. NC stands for Not Cool, NW stands for Not Warm. NC is all the warm tones, NW is all the cools. If you used foundation, you’d be within the NW range. ‘m the opposite, so I go for NC._

 _“Good boy!_ So you remembered ev-”

“Shush, lemme help you.” Sebastian wrinkles his nose at the given nickname, knitting his brows together. “What’s the complementary colour for yellow?”

“...Purple.”

“So what lip-gloss-”

_“-lipstick,”_

_“Lipstick._ What lipstick do you think you should take?”

“...The purple-toned one.” Ana grumbles, rolling the tubes of lipstick between her palms before puffing out a sigh. Sebastian quirks a brow. “You know what _—fuck it—_ I’ll take both of ‘em.” she quickly scurries out the aisle, murmuring a breathless _excuse me_ as she accidentally knocks into a makeup artist who shoots both Ana and Sebastian the dirtiest look Sebastian thinks he’s ever seen.

“Watch where you’re going, _hon.”_

Sebastian swears his face turns in on itself, and Ana offers a sheepish grin, shrugging her shoulders.

“My bad, _sugar.”_ she drawls unnecessarily. “I was just going to-”

“Ana! That.. _lip-gloss_ over there—wasn’t it the one you were looking for before?” Sebastian doesn’t know what the utter _fuck_ he’s talking about, but it’s working, and the makeup artist scoffs, dropping his arched brows into a glare and grabbing a jumble of _whatever_ s. Sebastian can tell that Ana bites down giggles.

“You were talking about that..” Sebastian squints his eyes down onto the pedestaled lip-gloss, lone on its own little island with boxes of what he presumes to be more lip-gloss hiding inside the cubby under it, “..that _Nares_ lip-gloss, weren’t you?”

Ana pauses to look Sebastian dead in the eyes. She squints her pretty greens into pinched almonds, and clacks the lipsticks in her palm against one another.

_“..Nares?”_

“Yeah, y’know—the.. the _brand.”_ Sebastian continues naturally, looking back at Ana like she’s dumb, or something, “..They make nice, high-end makeu-”

_“Nares?”_

“Yes, Ana, _Nares._ Why are you-?”

“Oh my _God,_ Sebastian, _NARS.”_ she finally lets a giggle loose, and another, and _another,_ and it’s quick that Ana’s hunched over in the middle of Sephora, hand clamped over her mouth as she tries to snuff out her _painfully_ obvious laughter. It’s all ugly snorts and weird hiccups, and Sebastian doesn’t know if he wants to bash his head or _her_ head into a wall.

“S-say it one more time for me, honey?”

Sebastian’s never been happier to see someone leave—the makeup artist, now either creeped out or weirded out or _both,_ sends one final musty look to Ana before going about his way. Sebastian cards his fingers through his hair and pauses to grip tight.

“Fuck off,” he lets a chuckle tumble from his lips, “just _look_ at it! It’s.. pretty.”

Sebastian’s lying. He’s barely a fucking _clue_ what it looks like, and his naked, old-man eyes only let him see _so_ far. He stalks forward, grateful to find that upon closer inspection, it _is_ actually quite pretty, the clear tube allowing the light berry-pink liquid to show through prettily, and Sebastian hones in on the bottle in search for the name.

“Ooh, so you _do_ have a taste!” Ana creeps up behind an unsuspecting Sebastian, snatching a boxed tube of lip-gloss from the cubby, “... _Sweet.. Dreams._ That’s a cute name!”

Sebastian raises his brows, “Can you try it on?”

“Sure, lemme just find a tester.”

It takes five minutes of Ana swatting around for a tester, waiting for an employee to pass by and eventually resorting to opening a not-a-tester bottle of lip-gloss that Ana twists it open, the very second she rolls off the cap, Sebastian _hating_ it.

Sebastian hates it a little more when Ana tries some of it on the back of her hand, and yup, Sebastian’s certain he _despises_ it with every last fibre of his 6’3 vessel as she slathers it onto her plump lips.

“What d’ya thiink?”

Sebastian’s eyes drink up her the sight of her lips like a water-starved beast would a humble little pond.

The colour screams Phantomhive, and Sebastian hates it, hates it, hates it.

“It’s really pretty. It looks pretty on you.” he lies through gritted teeth. It'd look prettier on Phantomhive. “Does it have a flavour?”

Ana grabs a fistful of his shirt to bring him all up-close and personal, and Sebastian forces his cringe into a somewhat surprised expression, his eyebrows meeting his hairline and mouth quirked uncomfortably. “Dunno," Sebastian's not the only liar, and Ana's eyes trickle down seductively, "why don’t you give it a _taste?”_

Sebastian doesn't want to, but after 3 and a half seconds of awkwardly staring down at his wife's needy face, mouth all puckered and reflecting specks of gold, he gives in and presses his lips against hers all gentle and _slow-mo._ All that runs through his mind is Phantomhive, and when Sebastian shuts his eyes, he’s no longer kissing Ana—he’s kissing his fucking _student._

“Tastes nice,” Sebastian remarks shakily, pulling away, “like a _sweet dream.”_

Ana smacks the side of his neck before giggling an ugly shut up, you weirdo, and Sebastian fakes a laugh.

_Were my lips soft, Sir?_

Sebastian licks his own.

_Or did you prefer kissin' that bitch over me—?_

"C'mon, Sebastian, 'm aallmmoosstt done!" Ana nags, strutting out the aisle all confident.

It takes 5 whole seconds of Sebastian Michaelis thinking faster than light for him to realize that oh, this _isn't_ good.

This isn't good at _all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE DELAY LADIES!!!!!!!!!!!!! it feels like i'm apologizing for taking a long ass time with every update but y'know -- shit happens. the next chappie won't take as long, but hey! leave me a kudos, a comment; lemme know how you felt about this chapter ♥♥♥


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woe
> 
> wō/
> 
> noun; _humorous_
> 
> things that cause sorrow or distress; troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some pussy eating in the beginning and some under-the-table action towards the middle and here's [the link](https://www.instagram.com/p/BkEA8NOh0e8/) to the dress it's so FUCKING CUTE i just had to squeeze it in here the second i saw it

Sebastian Michaelis is what one would consider... fucked.

“Oooh, whaddya think, Sebastian?”

Penetrated. Bamboozled. Screwed.

Fucked with a capital F.

“It’s.. really cute, babe. Are you gonna get it?” Sebastian asks. His fingers strain against the mass of shopping bags he harbours, and Ana’s having the time of her fucking life, trying what feels like the hundredth mini-dress yet. She spins to show off the ruffles accenting the hem of the teeny garment (can you even call it a garment? If Ana raises her arms, her ass is on _full blast)._

“Hah, perv. Eyes up here.”

Sebastian scoffs.

The dress itself is cute. Probably. It’s a light pink, it stops a quarter into Ana’s thighs, it’s skin-tight (Sebastian can’t tell if that’s gross or hot), and the hem is lined with a modest stripe of ruffles. The rest is all lacey. It looks a little childish for a woman of Ana’s 31 years, and Ana huffs, glaring into the mirror.

“Is it though? I feel like a little girl,” Ana giggles, pausing to look at Sebastian’s reflection, “‘cept little girls don’t do _this.”_

She flips up the hem of the dress, flashing Sebastian with the sight of her cleanly-shaved, slick and inviting pussy.

Sebastian chokes.

“Ana, _what,_ n-not — not _here,”_ he blurts hushed, head instinctively jerking around to see if any of the employees or customers are there to snoop on his fucking wife baring herself, smack dab in the middle of whatever damn store they’re at (is it _honey?_ Sebastian thinks it’s called _honey,_ but he can’t quite remember due to Ana turning around and cocking her hip, smirking slyly), bending the law like it’s nothing.

“C’mon, ‘Bastian,” Ana coos, tugging the hem back down slow, “we haven’t done anything like this since you were in uni!”

Sebastian bites into his lip.

“I miss that Sebastian  — ” she breathes, gently stepping towards him, “ —  you know what he would’ve done, baby?”

Sebastian’s scared to shake his head, because he knows  — _and he hates it_  —  it makes him throb disgustingly hard in his trousers.

“He would’ve wrapped those nice, big hands of his around my thighs,” Ana looks down at Sebastian, drawing her fingers into his locks of dark, “spread me _wide_ open,” she licks her lips, “and tell me to stay quiet while he eats me up.”

“But, whatever.” Ana drops her hand and turns back around, sighing, dress riding up her ass delectably as her thighs twist back forward. Her thighs  — _Christ_  —  her thighs are hardly contained within the thin fabric, and Sebastian can’t get to cursing himself out any faster. “He’s not here anymore, is he? I just have _you_ now. But that’s okay.”

Sure, Sebastian might be annoyed as shit  — but God does Ana know how to win him over.

It has been quite some time, anyway. Nothing wrong with.. indulging.

He licks his lips.

“Come — come back here, you damn — ” Sebastian’s voice is all shaky, and he grabs Ana by one of her skinny wrists. She turns back around, smiling wide. It’s irritating. Sebastian glares up her dress. “Y-you can’t just fucking do that and ex-expect me not to  — ” Sebastian takes a deep breath, “expect me not to lose my damn mind.”

His hands rake up her deliciously plump thighs, groping and feeling the firm muscle that lays beneath her taut skin. Maybe Ana isn’t as bad as Sebastian thought. He licks his lips again — they seem to keep drying out on him.

Sebastian pries her legs apart.

“You’re so damn wet, Ana,” he groans upon getting a closer eyeful of Ana’s plump lips, dripping with slickness, and Sebastian feels her shudder between the hands on her hips, “please, just sit on-sit on my face, let me taste you,”

“There he is.” Ana smiles.

And then, she does.

Ana lowers herself onto Sebastian’s waiting tongue, swallowing the yelps that threaten to hop out her throat, because God, Sebastian plunges that tongue of his right between her lips, closes his mouth around, and gets straight to licking and lapping on that soft skin. He’s fucking eager.

He’s all hot and whiny against the sweetness of her pussy, moaning and diving and slurping, and it’s got Ana quivering all over

“F-fuck, ‘Bastian, _fuck,”_ she whispers shakily, tightly gripping into his locks of black, “you’re so g-good!”

Sebastian dives in deeper, wriggling his head upwards to circle and slobber around Ana’s clit, running his tongue along the tender flesh of her labia, running the flat of it over that sensitive little bud to force a strangled moan out of Ana, and fucking _Hell,_ she’s drenched — slick trickles down Sebastian’s chin, his tongue can hardly keep up with how damn wet she is, and it’s messy, sweet and hot. Sebastian’s a starved, starved man, and he’s more than willing to devour her, dragging his tongue in torturously slow swipes, forcing Ana to throw her head back to cry out, but Sebastian’s hand is faster, and it jumps to wrap around her throat  —

 _“Se-bas-ti-an!”_ she croaks weakly, thighs beginning to quake and shake around Sebastian’s head, and his tongue  — _God,_ Sebastian’s tongue  — he noses down to ram that wet appendage into her dripping hole, lapping as much of that sweet, delicious, slippery mess as he can, and Sebastian works in and out her hungry, squeezing walls, desperate for more of that addictive warmth. Sebastian feels her throat bulge as she swallows her pleas.

“I’m g-gonna  — ” Ana clenches around Sebastian’s tongue, “ —  I’m gonna _cum,”_ she’s whispering, now, and Sebastian slides his hand onto Ana’s lower abdomen, reaching down to toy and stroke at her clit while his tongue goes to fucking _town._

“I — I — _Sebastian!”_

When Ana cums, it’s fucking amazing. She gushes warmth all over Sebastian’s tongue, she jerks, hips writhing down against his mouth, and Sebastian kisses and rubs her right through her orgasm, licking and frenching at her lips affectionately. He only stops when Ana forces him to, her fragile, shaky hands weakly drawing his head back, and Sebastian  — Sebastian’s in heaven. His lips are red and slobbered with saliva, his chin’s slicked with Ana, his eyes are glazed over, and for the first time in months — Sebastian looks up at Ana with genuine endearment.

“You’re nasty.” Ana huffs shakily, playfully slapping Sebastian’s cheek. He smiles.

“And you’re fast. You’re gonna have to buy this dress, now. You got it all fucking wet.”

Ana blushes, and then shuts up, sliding the spaghetti straps off her shoulders, and despite all he’s said thus far, Sebastian hates the dress. Hates it like he hates that damned lip-gloss.

He’ll never admit how much better it’d look wrapped around Phantomhive’s sweet little body.

* * *

 The next hour (or two, or three  — Sebastian’s lost track of time) is a blur. Ana drags him to 100 stores that all look the same, 10 lingerie chains, 5 makeup chains, and 3 little coffee shops that all sell identical looking cake-pops and cinnamon rolls.

Sebastian was done, to say the least.

 _Come on, just one more place, I promise I’m done, I just wanna check this place out!_ is what Ana repeated over and over like some damn broken record, and Sebastian wasn’t gonna lie  — he just wanted his damn steak. The teeny ember of hope Sebastian managed to spark after _eating_ had withered away to annoyance once more, and Sebastian wanted to spit the taste of her off his tongue.

Still, though. Sebastian’s a lovely husband, and he didn’t  — he just swallowed his Ana-tainted saliva, and nodded, and smiled.

And eventually, it did him good. It got him all the way to the meager little waiting line of Outback Steakhouse, the scent of seared beef penetrating through Sebastian’s nostrils deliciously, and yeah, maybe he and Ana were a teensy bit underdressed for a steakhouse, but it’s okay; outlet restaurants never get as much traffic as those in their own branch. Not like anyone Sebastian _cares_ about would come to the same Outback as him on the same day.

Right?

_“...Fuck.”_

Wrong.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sebastian grumbles under his breath, ducking his head down. Ana’s confused, and she gives Sebastian this glare.

“What? Don’t you wanna be here? You were fucking nagging me about this place for like, the whole day. Don’t tell me you — ”

“Ana, shut up. That’s not it.” Sebastian musters an annoyed chuckle, forcing his gaze up to check if it _is_ who he thinks it is, and instant regret slaps him right across the face because now his suspicions are confirmed.

It’s Phantomhive.

And Phantomhive’s mother.

And Phantomhive’s… father?

Sebastian clenches his fists, tight and bone-white, and whispers low enough so only his wife hears.

“It’s my student. And his family.” he watches as Rachel pats her son’s head, all loving and sweet. His father gives a dead stare into the corner of the room.

“...So? What, do you hate the kid? Is he one of those shitty ones? You got me worried for a sec.” Ana scoffs, flicking Sebastian’s arm in stupid retaliation.

“N-no, not at all, I just..” _it’s quite the fucking opposite, actually,_ Sebastian doesn’t say, “they’re.. important people. And I look like a bum. And the kid’s mom is.. _something._ And so his her husband.” he quickly ushers the last bit between his teeth due to the look of disgruntlement tanting Ana’s features.

He parts his lips to explain some more, but now it’s game over, because Phantomhive cranes his pretty, stupid, all-too-eager head towards Sebastian, and that big blue eye of his blows wide and ecstatic.

_My pr-problem is you, Sir._

Phantomhive tugs on his mother’s sleeve, and Rachel averts her gaze to burn holes into Sebastian’s forehead. But then her eyes light up like Phantomhive’s.

_You’ve ruined me, Sir._

“This.. is bad.”

Rachel turns around to whisper something into her husband’s ear, and he snaps his dead gaze alive. Now Vincent- _motherfucking_ -Phantomhive is staring at Sebastian, too.

“Why? You’re being real weird, you know.”

He... grins?

_An-anythin’ for you, Mister,_

_Anythin’ at all._

“Heh, you really don’t understand, Ana — ”

Sebastian Michaelis is Fucked with a capital F. And then they’re _all_ walking towards Sebastian, all giddy and eager and if the teacher wasn’t as stressed and annoyed and vaguely concerned as he is right now, it’d look fucking hilarious, and he’d probably be stifling giggles and laughs.

But it’s not, and he pretends not to see them approaching from his left, Rachel’s heels clacking obnoxiously with every step she takes, the jingle of her excessive amount of bangles loud enough for the whole damn restaurant to hear.

 _“Oi,_ Mister,  is that you?”

Game over.

“Ah, Ciel! I wasn’t expecting — I wasn’t expecting to meet you he-here.” Sebastian stammers.

Looking Phantomhive in the eye is like trying to staple water to a fucking tree, so he opts on staring at the tiny little pearl accenting his earlobe.

It’s.. adorable.

Sebastian hates everything.

“Neither was I, Sir,” the boy shuffles his feet shyly, looking up at Sebastian through thick lashes of sopped black, “now that I think about it, you do seem like a _steak-man.”_

“Vincent, this is Sebastian Michaelis — Ciel’s English teacher.” Rachel practically forces Vincent to stick out his hand — one of hers occupy themselves on the man’s back, and she gives a not-so-gentle, not-so-little shove.

Game fucking over.

“Pleasure meeting you, Sebastian.” Vincent’s voice is smooth and stern and borderline fucking terrifying. The hand he offers to Sebastian is clad in leather black, and Sebastian nearly hesitates to take it into his own.

Vincent’s grip is fucking _firm._

“Pleasure meeting you too, Sir. It’s an honour, really.” he replies, just as smooth. Sebastian doesn’t stutter, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt such a flurry of both relieve and dread at the same time. And even though Vincent- _motherfucking_ -Phantomhive is a handful of inches shorter, a little grayer on the head and a little thinner than Sebastian, the glare in his eyes and his — Sebastian doesn’t know what else to call it — his _aura_ is something intimidating and arrogant and powerful and dripping with superiority.

Sebastian bares a humble, genuine smile. If he had an aura, he’d be radiating cowardice and insecurity.

“Ah. Don’t be so _formal,_ Sebastian. Forget whatever I am — today it’s _just Vincent.”_

“Let us treat you.”

And then, it’s a goddamn blur from there.

Vincent-motherfucking-Phantomhive is a master of finessing, and he manages to catch a table for 5, despite the lack of reservation.

Vincent-motherfucking-Phantomhive is a master of generosity, and he says _I know this place like the back of my hand, Sebastian. Let me treat you,_ and orders the thickest, meatiest, _priciest_ sirloin Sebastian never even knew was on the fucking menu, despite visiting Outback on a damn near constant basis.

“‘s the _secret menu,_ Sebastian. I’m more than familiar with Elizabeth herself, and what I can say — it definitely has its…” Vincent pauses to take a sip from his glass of white wine, _“...perks.”_

Sebastian blinks once. And then twice. And then thrice.

“Elizabeth as in… Elizabeth... _Smith?_ The — the CEO?” Sebastian manages to force his confused yet excited damn-near-scream into a whispered yell, and Vincent laughs. And then nods.

He places a finger to his lips, and Sebastian starts laughing, too, before he feels a small, quickly rising nudge at his calves, causing him to look up. And then he stops laughing.

Phantomhive gives him an unnecessarily wide, blushy grin, and Sebastian’s heels fly to meet the woody part of the booth he’s sitting on faster than his eyebrows meet his hairline.

Sebastian coughs.

“Her and I are... more than acquainted.”

Phantomhive’s grin falters a little when he can’t seem to find Sebastian’s legs anymore, so Sebastian thinks that’s it — he’s fine, the kid probably did that by accident, it’s _fine,_ whatever, and he gently rests his legs back before jerking in surprise when he feels a gentle little nudge crawling back up the front of his muscular calves, dipping between Sebastian’s crossed legs to _pry them fucking open._

And when Phantomhive speaks, Sebastian nearly slams his head into his dish of deliciously, perfectly seared sirloin and legumes, because the first thing he hears isn’t real (thank fucking God) — it’s a reminiscence, a horribly timed reminiscence — and it’s a loud, throaty, whiny moan.

“How’s your steak, Sir?” is what _actually_ leaves Phantomhive’s disgustingly pretty lips, but it’s obscene, obscene and terrible; everything Phantomhive says sends blood rushing to Sebastian’s dick, and a horny-and-hormonal fucking _fourteen-year-old_ shouldn’t be making a grown man like Sebastian think of.. _think of…_

_I’ve been waiting to get that cock of yours down my throat for ages._

_Nnh, right there, Mister!_

“It’s delicious. Medium rare — just the way I like it.” Sebastian musters and smiles. Phantomhive’s gonna kill him in his fucking sleep — he sinks his little pearly whites into the pinkness of his lips.

“Mmhm... It looks so _juicy!”_

Sebastian clenches his eyes shut before aggressively forking a considerable chunk of steak into his watery mouth, and Rachel shoots him a look of maternal concern.

Vincent swirls his fork in his dish.

“You don’t have to lie, Sebastian,” he laughs, taking a stab of pasta, “I didn’t make it, or nothin’. We can send it back if you’d like — “

“No, no, it’s — it’s _great!_ I just,” Sebastian blinks, dropping an eyelid shut, _“got a little something in my eye.”_

Bullshit. But he places his fork and knife down anyway, proceeds to rub the fuck out of both his eyes before declaring the _whatever_ that made itself home in his sockets has been therefore banished.

But there’s still a fucking problem.

Phantomhive’s getting bold. His foot goes from playfully rubbing at his calves and stroking down and up from his quads to his heels to nestling homey between his thighs and pressing at the bulge that _shouldn’t fucking be there._

Sebastian’s hands are shaky, and it’s a struggle to drink water without spilling or creating a mess of some sort.

The boy smiles, and cuts a small piece out his ribeye.

“Would you like to try mine, Sir? It’s not medium rare — I much prefer medium well — but I promise it tastes just as good!” Phantomhive takes his foot off Sebastian’s groin — Sebastian swallows a gasp — and leans over the table to offer his fork.

Sebastian doesn’t _mean_ to stare down his little, flimsy white top. From the corner of his eye, Sebastian can see a look of surprise and embarrassment slap Vincent right across his handsome face. Ana murmurs a quiet _what the fuck?_

“Ciel, sweetheart — what are you doing?” Rachel’s first to grit it through her teeth, and Phantomhive rolls his pretty eye back.

Sebastian stifles a snicker. The kid presses delicious, oily steak against his lips.

“Givin’ Mr. M. a taste of _my meat.”_ Phantomhive blurts, “Open wide, Sir!”

“Pardon me?”

Sebastian has to pinch himself to restrain a fit of obnoxious laughter (he hears Ana choke on mashed potato), and opens nice and wide, lets his student fucking fork-feed him.

And the steak — the steak is amazing. It melts right onto Sebastian’s tongue, flavour floods his mouth like no other, and he nearly drools as he chews away. He barely even notices when Phantomhive happily sits back down, parents’ gazes burning holes into his satisfied being, and then he’s more than quick to get back to fucking around.

Phantomhive slides his heel right back onto Sebastian’s horridly throbbing cock, and begins to twist, gently stroking and rubbing.

Sebastian aggressively forks his steak once more before sliding a hand down to unbutton his trousers and air out his cock.

“I’m — I’m sorry about that, Sebastian, he’s never usually _like this.”_ Vincent looks like he’s trying not to seethe, and Phantomhive couldn’t be more oblivious or careless or both, “I thought we raised you better than to shove your _used_ fork into your own teacher’s bloody mouth.”

“Don’t make such a big _deeaal_ of it, Father. He liked it! Didn’t you, Sir? Wasn’t my steak good?” the boy coos, leaning his elbows flat against the table. Sebastian tries not to choke on a mouthful of asparagus.

“No worries, _heheh_ — “ Sebastian swallows before he grunts, clenching his fists as Phantomhive keeps at fucking stroking, all slow and torturous, heel hugging his balls, “ — I m-must admit, you all seem to have an excellent — an _excellent_ taste in steak.”

“‘s not everyday you get to di-dine with the Phantomhives.”

The kid giggles and nods and lowers his gaze shyly. Sebastian glares holes right into his bangs.

“Ah, _please._ It’s our pleasure. We love taking every opportunity there is to know who teaches our darling little boy,”  Rachel sighs, threading her fingers into her son’s locks of baby grey, “especially as he speaks so highly of you, Sebastian!”

“We couldn’t ask for anyone _better_ to look after Ciel.”

_Fucking bet._

“It’s my honour, Rachel.” Sebastian smiles, jaw clenched. His cock gives a heavy, heavy twitch beneath the sole of Phantomhive’s shoes.

“I wonder, Sir — “ he starts innocently, sliding his other leg up to meet his teacher’s dick, _“ — how close are you..._ to giving us our next test?”

Sebastian almost fucking chokes. Again.

Little shit.

“Oh, cl-closer than you _think,_ Ciel. It mi-might be — “

“It might be riight around the corner.”

Phantomhive bites his lips (for fucks sake, he can’t get any worse), and then he smiles. No, he doesn’t smile — he fucking _smirks,_ and engulfs all of Sebastian’s throbbing dick between the soles of his cute little oxfords, gently digging his heels into the shaft, sliding the toebox along his head, and Sebastian’s embarrassed with how quick he cums, gushing spurts of milky white all over himself and the kid’s shoes.

Sebastian swallows all his moans and opts on clearing his throat. He accidentally slams his fist down onto the table and tips his glass of water.

“Babe, you okay?” Ana asks. This time, both Vincent and Rachel shoot him a look of creepily parental concern.

Phantomhive slowly slides his legs back down, and then crosses them — the brat’s face is adorned with a massive grin, and Sebastian wants a bullet right between his own eyes.

“I’m lovely.” Sebastian says.

“...”

“...”

“Can I try some of _yours,_ Mister?”

* * *

 So.

Sebastian’s learned a handful of things within this Saturday evening.

1 — Ana might be coming around. _Might._

2 — Vincent-motherfucking-Phantomhive is a godsend and _a half._

3 — Ciel-motherfucking-Phantomhive is a little shit.

4 — Sitting around with cum in your briefs for an hour and _then_ some is something Sebastian Michaelis never wants to experience ever again.

Phantomhive cradles his head in his palms, eye drooling with puppy-love, and it’s the World’s Biggest Struggle not to stare right back.

Ana and Rachel are talking about something Sebastian can’t bring himself to give half a shit about, and Vincent — Vincent’s stuck trying to make conversation with Sebastian-I-Just-Got-Jacked-Off-By-Your-Barely-14-Year-Old-Son-Michaelis.

“Mmm, hope you don’t mind me asking, Sebastian, but how’s my dear boy doing in your class?” Vincent says, and Sebastian cracks a forced, uncomfortable smile.

“Not at all, Sir. Ciel’s definitely a… I’m not one to choose favourites, but your son’s a _gem.”_ Sebastian replies affectionately, tapping his fingertips upon the tabletop, “...Though I mustn’t lie, he _has_ been slacking as of late.”

 _Mustn’t?_ What is this, the fucking 17th century?

“Oh?” Vincent perks up, averting his gaze to meet Phantomhive’s, “And why is this, might I ask?”

“It’s just — Ciel seems to be rather.. _distracted_ in class. It takes him a little longer to pick up his pen, and he’s begun to leave his worksheets half-done! But it shouldn’t be a problem, no, not at all.”

“Nothing some time after class and lunch hour spent in my classroom can’t fix.” Sebastian grabs hold of his half-empty glass, and knocks back a quarter of honeyed white wine. Phantomhive rolls his eye in some sort of retaliation.

“Father, might I have a sip of that?” he asks, pointing at Sebastian’s glass, and the teacher hates how his face darkens in embarrassment. Despite the incident having been occurred less than a mere hour before, Sebastian thinks it’s not soon til he gets flashbacks of his damned student force-feeding him steak after getting his dick out and about his fucking trousers, tainted with little boy tracks.

And as expected, Vincent throws his head back and laughs, and laughs, and laughs some more — tells his son _don’t be silly, Ciel. You’re not getting a single lick of this til you’re of age,_ and as expected, Phantomhive slumps back in his seat.

“I’ll just be in the restroom — won’t be long, or nothing. Keep an eye on that boy.” Vincent says.

And Sebastian does.

The chitter-chatter of the ladies clinking glasses and laughing and joking soon fades away to white noise for both the teacher and his pupil, and now it’s silent, air thick with tension, and an obscenely large elephant smack dab in the middle of the restaurant.

Sebastian shifts in his seat, and Phantomhive keeps at his stupid, heart-eyed staring. He takes another particularly long sip from his glass, and all that remains is a tiny little pool of wine in the base of the fine crystalware. A quick jerk of the head to the right confirms that the ladies are rather occupied, and Sebastian turns his reddening face back to his pupil’s.

“So..” Phantomhive starts, dropping his gaze to Sebastian’s tie, “..can I have a taste of that?”

“...”

“Y-you do mean my wine, right?” Sebastian utters uncomfortably, glare burning hotter than ever. If he squeezes any harder, he’s sure to break the glass.

Phantomhive giggles.

“That too, I guess... Just a lick, Sir! Please!”

Is he really about to do this?

The kid juts his bottom lip out in a pout

_Fuck it._

“.Fine,” Sebastian says. “Just. _Don’t tell your parents.”_ he whispers, adding a wink and a nod before proceeding to dip the first two centimetres of his middle and index fingers into the beverage, feeling his skin immediately cool to the touch of wetness. Phantomhive’s already eager and wide-eyed as he watches Sebastian stir the wine, eventually drawing his digits back out to offer to the squirming boy, and the look of utter amusement brightening up Phantomhive’s features like fucking Christmas lights should be adorable or endearing — something of that like — but it’s so, so fucked up.

It’s fucked up because Sebastian’s cock gives a hell of a twitch in his sticky-with-cum briefs, and the low stir of dread building up in his gut is reprimanding every single thing that’s happened within the last 2 hours.

He’s _fourteen,_ for fucks sake. Not even — the kid’s birthday is in December.

“Open your mouth, Ciel.” Sebastian whispers again. And it’s embarrassing, because he’d never, ever think the words would come to mind — life isn’t books nor cheesy erotica — but the sweet, honeyed look in Phantomhive’s eye, the reflection his lashes cast upon his iris, the flush of his baby cheeks and the dripping pink that is his luscious lips, accompanied by a high, quiet giggle all bring Sebastian to a final conclusion.

Ciel Phantomhive is delicious, concentrated sin wrapped up in a blanket of purity, interior filthier than a fourteen year old boy should even have the capacity to generate, core radiating utter divinity and peculiar perfection, and it makes sense _—_ Sebastian’s certain when the kid leisurely, leisurely licks off what wine clings to the pads of his fingertips; only worsening when he starts to _suckle._

Sebastian curses under his breath.

“It tastes _real_ good, Mister.” Phantomhive says. “Thank you.”

Sebastian’s hands are shaking by the time he pulls them away from those plushy lips, and seeing the tiny string of saliva binding his digits to _that mouth_ nearly makes Sebastian-Grown-Ass-Man-Michaelis cream his pants (again) like some horny teenager, and he shoves his hands under his lap.

As if on queue, Vincent’s back, blessedly ignorant and oblivious and he plops back beside his son. He orders another bottle of pear-and-honeyed white wine, and the rest of the evening’s a thankful blur.

The occasional drink’s no harm, and Sebastian — Sebastian treats himself. Does he finish half the bottle? Maybe. Does Ana slap him for saying one too many things? Maybe. Does Rachel notice how Sebastian’s eyes keep trailing around her son? Does Vincent sling a wobbly arm around Phantomhive’s shoulders and warble a thing or two about staying away from creepy old men?

Maybe.

And Sebastian’s not _completely_ shitfaced, no — that’d be an exaggeration. Just a little tipsy, is all. And the man sobers up quickly, so it’s no problem, really. Nothing to worry about.

“Say, it’s time we leave, eh? It’s fucking _late,”_ Vincent damn near slurs, waving over some pitiful waitress for the bill.

“Vinnie, don’t swear.” Rachel snaps. Sebastian can faintly hear her murmur about how useless her husband is, but Sebastian just pretends he doesn’t hear it at all. A deafening silence it what follows as they all collectively wait for the bill to come, and Vincent declares a handful of threats along the lines of _this is on me. I swear, if any of you even try to pay for this fuckfest, I’ll have your heads on these very plates._

Vincent Phantomhive is... independent, to say the least. And it works, because nobody else whips out their wallets in an attempt to flatter him, and he pays for it all with a hefty 400-something bucks, lets the pitiful waitress take whatever’s left of it. She thanks him with a modest bow of the head, and then, the Phantomhive’s are going, Rachel’s heels obnoxiously clack away, and it all happens too fast, so Sebastian does what any normal man would do.

He hollers at the top of his fucking lungs.

“WAIT!”

It’s like they all get whiplash simultaneously, and he can hear Ana snuffling out her laughter.

“I need — I need to speak to your son, just real quick. I won’t take long — I promise.” Sebastian says hurriedly, and it’s 5 seconds of confusion and reluctance before they send the little gray-haired imp back to Sebastian and the table, Ana soon getting ushered away by her husband, before it’s just Sebastian and _him._

The first thing Sebastian does is bend over to match the boy’s height, and he point a big, shaking finger at that pretty face.

“Listen, _kid_ — “ Sebastian slurs, furrowing his brows, “ — th-that can never happen again, that was — that was a mistake, an’ it won’t _ever_ ha-happen again.”

Phantomhive crosses his arms and stares all-too-confidently into his teacher’s beady, honeyed crimson eyes. Sebastian thinks he sees him cracking into a smile.

“Wh-what _you_ did and what _I_ did was _very_ inappropriate, okay? An’ it shouldn’t have happened at all… you got — you got that?” Sebastian scolds, still managing a shaky teacher-voice as he scolds the boy away, and Phantomhive just giggles, and then nods.

Everything’s going into one ear and out the other, and Sebastian can’t tell if he wants to slap him or himself.

“Oh, I promise, Mister — I won’t eevveerr touch your dick again.” the boy coos, feet shuffling, lashes batting, and Sebastian visibly flinches.

“Don’t say that.”

Little shit.

“Why, you want me to touch your di — ?”

LITTLE SHIT.

_“Ciel.”_

“You know something, Sir — ” Sebastian gulps, “ — you’re _really_ cute. I like making your face go red.”

Phantomhive leans in closer, and grabs his teacher’s wobbly, shaky hand. He presses kisses all along those knuckles. “‘n you’re very handsome, Mister. I jus’ can’t help myself.”

The kid’s face is two, three centimetres away from Sebastian’s.

Bad.

“‘n I really, _really_ like you.”

_BAD._

Ciel Phantomhive closes the gap, bumps forehead-to-forehead, and it’s like everything stops for a matter of 3 seconds.

Ciel’s lips are soft.

Much softer than Ana’s. And It’s like kissing a dream.

The kid pulls away.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. 
> 
> after uploading this i've been informed that british people DO indeed use the word mustn't or shan't and shit and it would actually sound quite normal so uhm.
> 
> IGNORE THAT BIT !!!

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: vexing-young-master


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